THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


. 


i       A. 


POEMS 


BY 

JOSEPH  O'CONNOR 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW   YORK  LONDON 

yj  W.  Twenty-third  Street          24  Bedford  Street,  Strand 

tTbe  fmfcberbocfeer  press 
1895 


COPYRIGHT,  1895 

BY 
G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


Ube  TRmcfccrbocfcer  press,  flew 


Contents. 


PAGE 

THE  WHITE  ROSE         .        .        .        .        .  3 

THE  CAPTAIN'S  DOG 12 

THE  SPRING  AT  ANDERSONVILLE  ...  23 

THE  GENERAL'S  DEATH         ....  38 

WOMEN  AND  SOLDIERS  .....  40 

THE  RETURNING  VOLUNTEERS       ...  42 

THE  REASON  WHY 44 

THE  HOPES  OF  MAN 48 

NEW  YORK  DAY  AT  THE  WORLD'S  FAIR       .  51 

RIDING  TO  BATTLE 60 

THE  LAST  OF  His  RACE        ....  62 

A  CAVALIER'S  SWORD-SONG  ....  64 

WANDERING .66 

IF  THE  WIND  RISE 63 

AT  THE  PLACE  OF  W AILING  ....  70 

HER  HANDS 73 

THE  ARAB  POETS 75 

iii 


612761 

kflOAII 


Contents 

PAGE 

SLEEPING  AND  WAKING  .  .  .  -79 
AFTER  READING  SORDELLO  .  .  .  .  81 

A  LULLABY  .        , 85 

VESPERS  .  .  .-.-..  .  .  87 
WHAT  WAS  MY  DREAM  ?  .  .  .  .89 
UNCONQUERED  .  .  .  .  .  .92 

WINE  SONG 105 

THE  POET'S  BARGAIN    .        .        .      ».        .     107 
His  DREAM  .....       \        .     108 

THE  MASK  OF  THE  WORLD  ...        .        .     109 

WATER-LILIES      .        .       .        .        .        .     no 

BRINGING  THE  FIRE  FROM  DELPHI        .        .114 

THE  CHALLENGE .128 

A  TRUE,  TRUE  FRIEND         .        .        .        .130 

SONG — "  A  ROSE-BUD  AMONG  FULL-BLOWN 

ROSES"  .        .        .        .        ...     132 

SONG — "  FARE  THEE  WELL  !  "  .        .     133 

"  WE  'RE  BOYS  AND  GIRLS  TOGETHER  !  "      .     134 
NEW  YEAR,  OLD  ERA  .       ,       .       .  ...    136 

"  BRING  ME  A  MINSTREL  Now ".  -.  .  138 
BALLADE  OF  FAIR  WOMAN  ....  143 

A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN 145 

THE  CRAZY  KING 149 

HOME 153 

iv 


Contents 


"  MY  DREAMS  THEY  ALL  ARE  HAUNTED  "    .  155 

RECONCILIATION 157 

SONG — "  THEY  THAT  TO  PLEASURE   GIVE 

THE  TIME" 159 

SHADOWS 161 

THE  VANISHED  EDEN 163 

PANGE  LINGUA 187 

STRAY  RHYMES 189 

THE  FOUNT  OF  CASTALY       ....  192 


POEMS 


Ube  umbite  IRose, 

T  T  is  a  withered  rose, 

*      That  like  a  rose's  corpse,  full  dry  and 
wan, 

Finds  here  its  last  repose, 

Its  lustre  dulled,  its  form  and  softness  crushed, 
The  tender  life  with  which  its  petals  flushed 
And  all  its  soul  of  subtle  fragrance  gone. 

A  primal  rose  that  bloomed 
Among  the  kindling  brands,  as  white  as  frost, 

Where  Zillah  stood  undoomed, 
Or  from  Mahomet's  forehead  fluttered  fair 
To  earth,  when  Al  Borak  cleft  through  the  air 
In  flight  to  heaven,  might  leave  so  frail  a  ghost. 

The  poet  moralist 
Hath  ever  taken  sombre  joy  to  sing 

Upon  a  theme  so  trist, 
And  write  in  dust  of  roses  lessons  grim — 
That  pleasures  must  be  snatched  ere  they  grow  dim, 
3 


TKlbite  "Rose 


For  germs  of  death  in  folds  of  beauty  cling  ; 

That  since  the  roses  die, 
No  mortal  loveliness  may  long  endure  ; 

No  joy  outlast  a  sigh  ; 
No  passion's  thrill,  no  labor's  work  remain 
Beyond  a  season  ;  that  Decay  doth  reign  ; — 
Though  in  the  tyrant's  very  riot,  sure, 

Some  pledge  of  hope  is  found, 
That  all  the  universe  is  not  a  grave 

And  life  sits  somewhere  crowned. 
Not  Tasso's  soft  persuasion  unto  sin 
I  find,  dear  rose,  thy  withered  leaves  within, 
Nor  any  precept  Epicurus  gave  ; 

To  me  thou  dost  not  breathe 
A  thought  of  festivals,  or  memory 

Of  woven,  wine-dipped  wreath, 
Or  kisses  on  ripe  lips,  or  fond  regret 
For  bounds  by  time  to  fleeting  pleasures  set, 
Or  wish  to  bring  thy  beauty  back  to  thee. 

To  kiss  thy  leaves  I  bend, 
And  lo  !  the  crash  of  cannon  fills  mine  ears  ; 

I  see  the  banners  blend 
Into  the  battle  smoke  ;  and  the  long  lines 

4 


TKHbitc  "Rose 


Of  marching  men  where  glint  of  bayonet  shines 
Through  clouds  of  dust ! — The  hopes,  the  hates,  the 
fears 

Of  old  thrill  through  my  heart  ; 
Again  the  myriad  ghosts  of  the  great  war 

From  out  their  cerements  start  ; 
Again  the  nation  in  the  contest  strains 
Its  every  nerve  ;  again  the  deep  refrains 
Of  groan  and  cheer  break  on  us  from  afar  ! 

What  mystery  of  power 
To  fill  the  mind  with  visions  such  as  these 

Lies  in  this  scentless  flower  ? 
'T  is  three  and  twenty  years  this  very  June, 
Since  first  it  opened  to  the  southern  noon 
And  swung  in  languor  to  a  southern  breeze  ; 

And  on  the  stalwart  breast 
Of  one  that  wore  the  blue,  while  yet  in  bloom, 

"T  was  set  in  gallant  jest ; 
In  the  long  march's  dust  it  drooped  its  head 
And  in  the  smoke  of  Gettysburg  lay  dead, 
With  many  a  life  more  precious  finding  doom. 

Beside  a  farmer's  home 
In  shade  and  shine  this  rose  of  battle  grew, 

5 


Cbe  THUbite  "Rose 


What  time  the  rolling  drum 
Announced  the  crisis  of  the  war  at  hand, 
As  Meade  pressed  swiftly  north  through  Maryland, 
And  ever  closer  to  Lee's  columns  drew  ; 

On  that  grim,  weary  march 
Rain  seldom  fell  ;  the  June  sun  fiercely  glowed, 

And  seemed  all  things  to  parch  ; 
The  winds  grew  still,  nor  in  their  motion  swung 
The  dust  that  round  the  lithe  battalions  clung 
For  miles,  on  many  a  winding  country  road. 

The  women  stood  in  groups 
And  watched  with  tear-wet  eyes  and  smiling  lips 

The  marching  of  the  troops  : 
The  smiles  came  at  the  sight  of  manhood  stern 
Moving  to  sacrifice  with  unconcern  ; 
The  tears  were  for  the  battle's  drear  eclipse 

That  was  so  soon  to  fall 
On  many  a  home  where  then  the  sunshine  slept, — 

The  shadow  of  a  pall ; 
And  though  their  hopes  went  with  the  stripes  and 

stars, 

Or  lingered  far  away  with  stars  and  bars, 
Yet  they  were  women  still — and  smiled  and  wept ! 
6 


THUbite  TRose 


And  where  this  rosebud  lush 
Had  blossomed  into  innocence  and  peace 

Upon  its  modest  bush, 
A  column  halted  for  a  rest  at  noon, 
And  the  tired  soldiers,  glad  of  such  a  boon, 
Flung  knapsacks  off,  stacked  arms,  and  took  their 
ease. 

And  there  to  one  that  quaffed 
From  the  deep  farmhouse  well,  with  careless  zest, 

A  luscious  draught, 

A  fair  girl  said,  scorn  lurking  round  her  mouth  : 
"  Dare  these  men  meet  the  veterans  of  the  South  ?" 
Half  earnestly  she  spoke,  and  half  in  jest. 

The  soldier's  serious  eyes 
An  instant  flashed,  and  then  grew  soft  again, 

While  yet  the  quick  surprise 

Was  flushing  his  bronzed  cheek  ;  for  he  was  born 
To  reverence  womanhood,  and  not  to  scorn  ; 
And  so  disdained  to  wound  her  with  disdain. 

He  spoke  with  quiet  grace, 
In  even  tones,  a  smile  both  quaint  and  grave 

Upon  his  firm,  strong  face  : 
"  To  wear  in  the  next  battle  give  to  me 
7 


Cbc  IQbitc  "ftcse 


A  rose,"  he  said,  "  and  then  the  rose  will  see  !  " 
In  sober  mood  she  plucked  this  flower  and  gave. 

It  seems  another  age 
When  things  like  these  were  done  ;  the  rose's  bloom 

He  took  as  battle  gage, 

And  with  his  laughing  comrades  went  his  way, 
Well  knowing  that  the  columns  wide  astray 
Were  fast  converging  for  the  day  of  doom  ! 

O  streams  of  rippling  steel 
That  northward  flowed  with  current  ever  true  ! 

In  thought  we  watched  you  wheel 
Among  the  hills,  a-winding  to  and  fro, 
The  weapons  sparkling  o'er  the  men  below 
Like  glancing  foam  above  the  waves  of  blue  ! 

We  knew  your  end  and  source, 
And  that  your  torrents,  crowned  with  portents  dire, 

Would  keep  their  onward  course 
Till  in  the  battle's  plunge,  with  thunder's  roar, 
And  scorching  flames,  your  cleansing  tides  should  pour 
Abroad,  and  save  the  nation  as  by  fire  ! 

The  first  day  of  July, 
Just  north  of  Gettysburg,  the  fight  began 
Whose  memory  will  not  die. 
8 


Cbe  TXabite  TRosc 


There  lay  along  the  outskirts  of  a  wood 
A  regiment  busy  in  the  work  of  blood  ; 
And  he  that  wore  the  rose  watched  every  man, 

Alert,  unvexed,  intense, 
And  kept  the  firing  cool,  and  fierce,  and  fast  ; 

In  front  in  column  dense 

Stern  Southern  valor  formed,  and  would  not  flinch, 
Nor  be  denied,  yet  could  not  win  an  inch  — 
Till,  far  outflanked,  our  lines  gave  way  at  last. 

Behind  the  frightened  town, 
On  Cemetery  Hill  the  rout  was  stayed  ; 

And  there  the  men  lay  down 
And  slept  content  among  the  graves  that  night, 
And  there  this  pallid  rose,  in  soft  moonlight, 
Upon  its  wearer's  heaving  bosom  swayed. 

The  gathered  armies  clashed, 
And  on  the  circling  hills,  the  second  day, 

Incessant  cannon  crashed  ; 

And  shot  and  shell  tore  up  each  reverent  mound 
And   flung    the    tombstones'    shattered    fragments 

round. — 

Poor  rose,  that  heard  the  din  of  such  a  fray  ! 
On  the  third  day,  behold  ! — 
9 


TJDlblte  IRose 


It  saw  the  climax  of  the  battle  come  ; 

When  calm,  and  stern,  and  bold, 
The  great  Virginians  charged  and  could  not  win, 
Though  manhood's  flower,  as  they  have  ever  been 
In  field,  and  hall,  and  by  the  hearth  of  home. 

How  proud  their  column  moved 
Up  the  long  slope  of  death  with  stubborn  tread, 

Obeying  him  they  loved  ! 

And  still  against  the  storm  of  fire  that  scourged 
Supporting  squadrons  backward  as  it  surged, 
How  fierce  they  held  their  way  unwearied  ! 

Mayhap  with  other  foes 
They  might  have  won  ;  but  ever  slow  to  yield 

And  ever  prompt  to  close 

Were  Hancock's  men  ;  and  the  Virginian  shaft 
That  pierced  our  lines  was  shattered,  head  and  haft 
Within  the  wound  ! — And  Lee  had  lost  the  field. 

Amid  the  eddied  smoke, 
The  groans  of  dying  men,  and  the  glad  cheer 

Of  victory  that  broke 

From  hill  to  hill,  this  thing  of  beauty  died  ; 
And  he  that  wore  and  had  forgot  it,  sighed 
And  thought  of  it  again  as  something  dear  ; 


3be  "QBlbite  "Rose 


So  from  his  breast  he  took 
The  rose  and  sent  it  home  to  have  it  set 

Within  this  simple  book, 
The  favorite  of  a  girl  he  loved  and  lost, 
And  'mid  the  leaves  it  lingers  like  a  ghost. 
Though  they  be  gone,  the  flower  abideth  yet  ; 

And  often  when  I  gaze 
Into  its  folds  and  see  these  visions  fair, 

Mine  eyes  are  filled  with  haze 
Of  tears  for  him  that  wore  it  true  and  brave  ; 
Almost  I  turn  to  fling  it  on  his  grave 
Beside  the  little  flag  that  flutters  there  ! 

Then  sigh  for  power  to  close 
Within  the  amber  clear  of  poetry 

This  pale  and  withered  rose 
That  else  must  pass  and  crumble  into  dust 
And  squander  in  some  wild  and  windy  gust 
The  essence  I  would  set  in  melody, — 

The  feelings  of  the  time 
When  first  it  bloomed  ;  the  deeds  of  sacrifice  ; 

The  thoughts  and  acts  sublime  ; 
The  scenes  of  battle  with  their  woe  and  scathe  ; 
The  courtesy  and  courage,  love  and  faith — 
That  I  can  read  within  it  with  mine  eyes  ! 


Ube  Captain's  Bog, 


X  1  7E  liked  Bachelle,  a  soldier  trained  and  tried 
*  •        In    France's    wars  ;    not   only    brave    but 
skilled  ; 

Who  gloried  in  the  regiment's  honest  pride  ; 
Who  kept  his  company  superbly  drilled  ; 

Who  boldly  led  where  many  a  comrade  died  ; 
And  ever  to  the  touch  of  danger  thrilled. 

He  claimed  no  kith  or  kin,  nor  faith  of  woman, 

But  made  a  dog  his  friend,  and  hated  no  man. 

We  loved  his  dog,  a  giant  Newfoundland, 

With  massive  head  and  eyes  of  glowing  yellow, 

With  mien,  when  in  repose,  serene  and  grand, 
With   voice,    in    rage  or    glee,    deep,    rich,   and 
mellow, 

With  color  like  a  camp-fire's  smouldered  brand, — 
A  very  prince  of  beasts,  a  gallant  fellow 

12 


Gaptain'0  Dog 


That,  come  what  might  of  triumph  or  disaster, 
Still  cheered  us  all,  and  still  adored  his  master. 

He  was  a  soldier,  not  unfeatly  trained  ! 

"  Attention  !  "  and  he  reared  himself  erect, 
With  head  held  gravely  back,  but  unconstrained. 

"  Right  hand  salute  !  "  The  great  paw  rose  direct. 
"  'Bout  face  !  "     He  turned  with  each  drill  motion 
feigned. 

Or  "  Forward,  march  ! "    He  took  with  grim  effect 
The  cadence  step  and  not  a  movement  slurred, 
But  duly  wheeled  and  halted  at  the  word. 

A  comrade  stanch  for  march  or  bivouac  ! 

That  foraged  with  a  zeal  that  would  not  tire, 
Stole  out,  when  times  were  hard,  and  bro't  us  back 

Some  prisoner  pig  to  simmer  on  our  fire, 
And  more  than  paid  for  coffee  and  hard  tack 

With  roosters  over  loud  in  Southern  ire, 
Or  turkey  gobblers  prone  to  strut  and  brag, 
Or  inadvertent  geese  that  hissed  the  flag. 

A  patriot,  moreover,  in  his  way  ! 

Mayhap  he  did  not  understand  our  cause, 
13 


£be  Captain's  Bog 


Nor  care  if  slaves  should  still  in  bondage  stay, 
Nor  prate  of  constitutions  or  of  laws  ; 

But  to  our  flag  when  fluttering  to  the  fray, 
He  gave  due  greeting  and  a  dog's  applause. 

He  knew  the  Northern  cheer  and  loved  it  well, 

And  bayed  defiance  to  the  Southern  yell. 

But  though  a  solace  on  the  weary  tramp, 
Though  friendly  with  us  all  and  debonair, 

He  owned  no  doubtful  homage  in  the  camp, 
But  set  his  master's  love  beyond  compare. 

And  coiled  about  his  feet  in  dew  and  damp, 
And  kept  his  tent  as  lion  guards  a  lair, 

And  watched  his  face  to  catch  the  lightest  sign, 

And  paid  him  worship  as  a  thing  divine. 


II. 


'  T  was  on  a  clear,  soft  morning  in  September 
We  formed  for  battle  thirty  years  ago— 

It  seems  some  startling  dream  that  I  remember  ! 
Antietam  valley  opens  far  below  ; 

The  eastern  hills  agleam  with  dawn's  red  ember, 
Green  woods  and  fields  of  amber  all  aglow, 
14 


Captain's  Dog 


The  myriad  orchards  mellowing  in  the  morn, 
The  crisp  of  ripeness  rustling  in  the  corn  : 

And  all  the  valley  thrilled  with  vivid  life, 
The  massing  troops  in  motion  far  and  near, 

The  bugle's  note,  drum's  roll,  and  scream  of  fife, 
And  here  and  there  at  times  a  distant  cheer  ; 

For  either  side  the  stream  that  named  the  strife 
Our  men  were  mustering  ;  and  bright  and  clear, 

Along  the  vale,  in  sudden  bloom  and  flower 

Our  banners  blossomed  in  their  grace  and  power. 

Three  miles  in  dip  of  vale,  on  ridge's  crown, 
The  Southern  line  in  expectation  stood, 

From  Burnside's  bridge,  the  right,  past  Sharpsburg 

town, 
With  left  refused  along  the  western  wood 

By  Dunker  church  athwart  the  turnpike  brown, — 
No  lack  of  skill,  or  faith  to  make  it  good  ; 

And  far  beyond  unseen,  to  screen  the  foe, 

The  fair  Potomac  bent  its  silver  bow. 

With  three  divisions  Hooker  moved  at  dawn 
Against  their  left ;  and  Gibbon's  stanch  brigade 
15 


Cbe  Captain's  Dog 


Struck  down  the  road  from  Hagerstown  ;  and  on 
Toward  the  Dunker  church  pressed  undismayed, 

The  Sixth  Wisconsin  marching  in  the  van, 
And  stepping  steadily  as  on  parade, 

Though  crash   of    cannon    seemed    to    shake    the 
ground 

And  filled  the  tortured  air  with  moaning  sound. 


\Ve  soon  deployed  our  right  along  the  road, 

Set  rifles  ringing  to  the  battle's  tune, 
And,  to  their  music,  slowly  onward  strode  ; 

Past  Miller's  house,  while  shells  about  us  croon, 
We  went,  and  only  paused  to  fire  and  load  ; 

The  orchard's  shelter  seemed  a  blessed  boon, 
Though  bullets,  thicker  than  the  farmer's  bees 
And  stinging  sharper,  hummed  among  the  trees. 

Around  the  church,  along  the  west  wood's  edges 
The  fierce  fire  ran  in  fury  to  and  fro, 

Like  rapid  flame  let  loose  in  prairie  sedges  ; 

And  through  the  curtained  smoke  we  saw  it  glow, 

Where  sheltered  in  outcropping  limestone  ledges 
Full  close  at  hand  still  clung  the  desperate  foe, 
16 


Gbe  Captain's  Bog 


Though  Campbell's  guns  drove  close,  served  brave 

and  well, 
And  searched  the  flanking  lines  with  shot  and  shell. 

Still  on  our  course  —  advancing  through  a  field 
Of  overtopping  corn  that  stretched  afar  ; 

That  day  full  many  a  regiment  through  it  reeled 
In  honest  labor  for  the  reaper  war  ; 

As  stalks  of  fruitful  promise  break  and  yield, 
So  human  lives  among  them  shattered  are  ; 

For  men  fall  fast  and  though  our  line's  unbroke, 

Each  bullet's  blow  smites  like  a  hammer  stroke. 

We  gained  ;  but  Jackson  watched  his  shaken  lines 
With  battle  instinct  true  and  steady  nerve, 

The  danger  from  its  shadow  he  divines 
And  promptly  gathers  in  his  last  reserve, 

And  flings  it  forth  athwart  our  bold  designs  ; 

And  spent  with  toil  and  fight  the  bravest  swerve, 

And  to  the  onset  fresh  give  slowly  back  — 

Half  foiled  and  half  victorious  our  attack. 

For  every  foot  of  ground  our  regiment  won 
It  paid  a  heavy  price  in  sweat  and  gore, 
17 


Captain's  Dog 


Each  foot  it  lost  fierce  toll  was  levied  on, 
And  shattered  for  a  time  it  could  no  more 

With  brave  commander  wounded,  colors  gone, 
With  dead  and  dying  scattered  many  a  score  ; 

It  melted  slowly  from  the  battle's  brunt 

As  the  reserves,  too  late,  moved  to  the  front. 

in. 

The  dog,  my  hero,  what  of  him  the  while? 

Lost  with  his  master  in  the  battle  stream  ; 
And  in  the  din  and  that  confusion  vile 

We  only  guessed  at  things  by  glint  and  gleam  ; 
We  knew  the  creature  with  unwonted  guile, 

When  told  to  bide  by  wagon  and  by  team, 
Had  stolen  through  the  fields  and  joined  our  march 
With  tossing  tail  and  glance  of  triumph  arch. 

We  felt  his  flitting  presence  here  and  there, 
Half  conscious  in  the  busy  battle's  stress  ; 
It  ceased,  but  fading  left  us  unaware. 

And  some  had  stayed  him  for  a  quick  caress, 
When  dashing  vanward  with  a  lordly  air 

That   said:    "Wisconsin  lads,   they  're  ours,  I 
guess — 

18 


Captain's  Dog 


Press  where  you  see  my  black  tail  wave  afar  ! 
Catch  on,  my  boys,  to  Henry  of  Navarre?" 

And  some  had  marked  him  leap  the  roadside  fence 
To  meet  a  rebel  charge, — and  set  the  pace  ; 

Or,  through  the  rifts  of  battle-vapor  dense, 

Had  watched  him  check  his  headlong  rush  and  gaze 

With  look  of  wonder,  wistful  and  intense, 
Upon  a  prostrate  comrade's  stiffening  face  ; 

And  turn  from  every  wayward  dash  aside 

To  seek  his  master  with  an  eager  stride. 

And  some  had  heard  his  bark  of  noisy  glee 
Along  the  road  ;  and  some  his  angry  bay 

To  find  stretched  out  beneath  an  orchard  tree 
A  wounded  friend  whose  life  ebbed  fast  away  ; 

And  some  had  seen  him  last  just  dashing  free 
Among  the  corn  at  crisis  of  the  fray, 

Behind  Bachelle  when  he  had  called  and  cheered 

And  caught  the  fallen  flag  and  disappeared. 


How  Mansfield's  men  retook  our  ground  again  ; 
How  Sedgwick  charged  away  beyond  and  failed; 
19 


Cbe  Captain's  Dog 


How  French,  with  every  energy  astrain, 
In  face  of  burning  farm-houses  assailed  ; 

How  Richardson  drove  on  to  Bloody  Lane, — 
Must  be  in  some  more  epic  verse  detailed  ; 

And  how  slow  Burnside  won  Antietam  bridge, 

And,  crossing,  menaced  there  the  southern  ridge. 

Night  fell  in  sadness,  and  the  morning  rose 
Upon  that  vale  of  death  and  suffering, 

And  we  could  see  the  army  of  our  foes 

Still  stretched  along  the  hills,  a  wounded  thing, 

That  fiercely  waits  to  have  the  hunter  close, 
A  lion  maimed,  impatient  for  a  spring. 

Night  fell  again  ;  and  on  the  second  dawn 

The  cautious  hunter  found  the  quarry  gone. 

v. 

We  searched  the  field  for  comrades  dead  that  day  ; 

And  why  rehearse  the  grievous  chronicle, 
And  tell  where  this  poor  fellow  crawled  away, 
How  that  one  looked,  or  how  the  other  fell  ? 
But  at  the  furthest  limit  of  the  fray, 

Stone    dead    with    face    to    heaven,  we    found 
Bachelle. 

20 


Cbe  Captain's  2>o0 


And  dead  across  his  gallant  master's  breast, 
As  if  on  guard,  we  found  his  dog  at  rest. 

The  huge  paws  stretched  in  front,  the  eyes  astare, 
Against  the  shadows  of  the  western  wood, 

In  poise  that  meant  defiance  and  despair, 
And  fearless  love  and  boundless  gratitude  ; 

And  under  dog  and  man,  half  hidden  there, 

The  missing  flag  stained  darkly  with  their  blood. 

No  wonder  in  the  sombre  autumn  weather, 

We  buried  them  as  comrades,  both  together. 

VI. 

You  sigh,  sometimes,  my  lads,  for  days  gone  by, 
For  large  events  and  deeds  of  stirring  power, 

When  through  the  land  went  freedom's  battle-cry, 
When  time-worn  process  ended  in  an  hour, 

When  he  who  would  for  good  of  man  might  die, 
When  laurel  leaf  was  set  above  the  flower  ; 

But  why  regret  the  past  ?  for  every  age 

There  comes  a  work,  if  not  a  war  to  wage. 

In  war  the  nation's  strength  is  manifest, 
In  peace  alone  it  gets  its  growth  and  gain  ; 
21 


Captain's  Dog 


In  war  the  nation's  courage  finds  a  test, 

In  peace  the  virtue  comes  that  bides  the  strain. 

We  all  may  serve  the  flag  ;  he  serves  it  best 
Mayhap  who  lives  a  life  without  a  stain. 

A  gentle  deed  may  guard,  a  noble  word, 

A  smile  perchance  avail  it  as  a  sword. 

Oh  not  alone  our  banner's  beauty  comes 
From  strife  heroic,  battle's  smoke  and  glare, 

From  bugles  blown  or  from  the  roll  of  drums  ; 
'T  is  love,  and  truth,  and  right  that  make  it  fair. 

It  takes  a  kindly  light  from  happy  homes, 

The  poet's  song,  the  sage's  thought  shine  there. 

We  all  would  die  to  keep  the  flag  a-flying  ; 

But  let  us  live  to  keep  it  worth  such  dying  ! 


22 


Spring  at  BnfcersonvUle. 


T   AM    glad,  my  boy,  that  you  've  spoken  out 

•*         And  told  so  frankly  your  secret  doubt. 

Let  it  work  its  way  ;  I  am  not  afraid, 

But  would  not  hinder,  and  cannot  aid  ; 

For  this  is  a  matter  that  every  soul 

Must  meet  for  itself  —  and  spurn  control. 

And  though  faith  seem  false,  and  though  doubt  look 

true, 
There  shall  be  no  quarrel  between  us  two  ! 

Before  you  were  born,  boy,  there  was  a  day 
When  for  me,  too,  the  creed  of  youth  gave  way. 
Your  doubt  is  a  thing  of  the  intellect, 
Gentle  and  sad,  with  no  trace  to  detect 
Of  the  atheist  hate  that  turns  doubt  to  sect. 
It  comes  of  the  searching  scholarship 
That  read  the  secret  of  wedge-shaped  scrip 
And  pictured  sculpture,  suggesting  man 
23 


Cbe  Spring  at  Snfcersonvtlle 


Ere  Adam  delved  and  before  Eve  span. 

It  comes  of  science  that  bends  and  traces 

The  story  of  nature  in  hidden  places, — 

Mid  types  deep  set  in  the  rocky  ledges 

And  in  types  a-swarm  in  the  swampy  sedges. 

It  comes  of  the  new  philosophy 

That  evolves  the  myriad  things  that  be — 

Form,  and  color,  and  life,  and  mind — 

From  a  chaos  of  matter  undefined ; 

That  sets  aside  will,  and  design,  and  cause, 

For  the  moulding  of  process  under  laws. 

My  doubt  was  a  fierce  and  bitter  thing, 

That  was  born  of  anguish  and  suffering, 

A  stern  hard  fact  in  an  evil  strife 

That  changed  the  meaning  of  death  and  life, 

That  came  unsought,  that  was  long  denied, 

That  was  master  at  last — and  that  strangely  died. 

How  did  it  happen  ?     You  may  as  well  know, 
Though  I  hate  to  think  of  that  long-gone  woe. 

There  was  cleared  in  a  forest  of  Georgia  pine 
An  ample  space,  with  a  grim  design. 
The  trees  that  had  murmured  in  shadowy  glades 
Were  trimmed  and  set  into  stout  stockades, 
24 


tlbc  Spring  at  anDersomWle 


And  enclosed  two  slopes  to  a  swampy  run 
That  unshaded  steamed  in  the  southern  sun. 
And  stands  for  sentries  at  intervals 
Rose  over  the  line  of  the  strong  pine  walls  ; 
And  northward  a  ridge  of  entrenchments  swept, 
And  southward  the  sinuous  rifle-pits  crept  ; 
While  the  muzzles  of  fourteen  cannon  frowned 
From  four  forts  that  the  heights    at    the  corners 

crowned, 

Commanding  the  stream  and  the  sloping  ground. 
There  were  store-house  and  hospital  round  about, 
And  camps  for  guards  in  the  woods  without  ; 
And  beyond,  in  a  stretch  of  dreary  space, 
A  priestless  and  coffinless  burial  place. 
'T  was  a  month  of  summer  in  Sixty-Four, 
When  I  saw  that  spot — to  forget  no  more. 

You  can  guess  its  name.     In  that  prison  pen, 
With  its  twenty-five  acres  of  slope  and  fen, 
There  were  thirty-five  thousand  hapless  men. 
They  were  soldiers  once  and  had  worn  the  blue  ; 
They  were  nothing  now  but  a  spiritless  crew, 
A  motley  concourse,  in  tatters  and  rags, 
Forgetting  the  flutter  of  battle  flags — 
25 


Spring  at  HnOersonvHlc 


Mere  shadows,  and  wrecks,  and  skeletons 
Of  what  was  a  fair  humanity  once  ; 
Yet  substantial  enough  for  all  sufferings 
And  the  breeding  and  feeding  of  evil  things, 
For  diseases  of  blood,  and  bone,  and  skin, 
For  vermin  without  and  death-germs  within. 
They  huddled  in  tents  of  torn  blankets  at  night  ; 
They  jostled  in  groups  in  the  glare  of  the  light ; 
They  sat  on  the  slopes  and  looked  down  on  the 

gleam 
Of  the  sunshine,  untempered,  that  burned  on  the 

stream, 

Or  the  slime  of  the  swamp  that  persistently  squirms 
With  the  writhing  and  twisting  of  sewage  worms. 


What  a  life  we  lived  in  that  tainted  air, 
On  a  single  ration  of  wretched  fare  ! 
There  were  some  that  dug  through  the  stiff  red  clay, 
Though  weaker  and  hungrier  day  by  day, 
And  lacking  the  simplest  of  laboring  tools, 
Till  the  water  came  into  the  deep  rough  pools. 
There  were  some,  with  a  stern  intent  to  be  free, 
That  laid  patient  schemes  for  their  liberty, 
And  ran  tunnels  under  the  tall  stockade 
26 


TTbe  Spring  at  SnDersonvflle 


With  a  cap  for  a  cart  and  a  spoon  for  a  spade. 

There  were  some  that  were  strangely  bent  on  gain, 

And  set  traffic  afoot  amid  want  and  pain. 

There  were  some  that  cheated,  and  stole,  and  slew, 

Until  wrath  in  our  sorrowful  city  grew, 

And,  ultimate  curse,  to  meet  that  guilt, 

A  gallows  within  the  walls  was  built. 

A  blessed  comrade,  at  such  a  time, 
Was  he  who  had  travelled  in  many  a  clime, 
And  enlivened  the  hours  of  lingering  care 
With  tales  of  adventure  and  love  elsewhere  ; 
Or  he  whose  humor  no  woe  could  tame, 
And  whose  wit,  in  the  gloom,  kept  its  fitful  flame  ; 
And  happy  the  one  in  whose  mind  was  store 
Of  romancers'  fancies  and  poets'  lore, 
Who  could  shut  his  eyes  on  the  ghastly  show 
And  call  up  bright  visions  of  long  ago — 
Of  primal  heroes,  of  knightly  lists, 
Of  fairy  courts,  and  of  lovers'  trysts. 
For  the  weeks  rolled  on  ;  no  exchange  was  made  ; 
And  the  boldest  of  men  grew  at  heart  afraid  ; 
And  each  morning  we  counted,  in  scores,  the  dead, 
Whose  souls  in  the  course  of  the  night  had  sped  ; 
27 


Spring  at  BnOersonvllte 


And  it  seemed  that  despair  and  a  dulness  drear 
Pervaded  the  very  atmosphere. 

It  was  common  to  see  some  soldier  worn 
Rise  from  the  ground  with  a  look  forlorn, 
And  totter  away  to  the  dead-line  rail, 
And  sombrely  cross  that  barrier  frail, 
And  take  his  stand  on  the  fatal  spot — 
And  wait  for  the  sentinel's  fancy  shot. 
It  was  common  to  see  some  comrade  mope 
Away  by  himself  on  the  gentle  slope 
And  sit  with  his  shrunken  shoulders  stooped 
And  his  head  on  his  knees  in  silence  drooped — 
To  dream  of  an  orchard  aglow  with  buds, 
Or  a  sugar  fire  in  some  maple  woods, 
Or  a  northern  farm-house,  white  and  trim, 
Where  a  mother  perchance  was  dreaming  of  him. 
And  we  knew  he  was  doomed,  for  the  fatal  clasp 
Of  that  yearning  for  home  never  loosened  its  grasp. 

I  had  kept  good  heart ;    I  was  young  and 

strong, 

But  I  shuddered  to  enter  that  woe-worn  throng. 
I  had  met  and  passed  without  pang  of  fear 

28 


tlbe  Spring  at  Bn&ersonville 


The  mangled  comrades  that  drift  to  the  rear 

From  the  storm  and  stress  of  the  battle's  brunt, 

As  you  move  to  your  place  on  the  threatened  front, 

But  I  could  not  encounter  undismayed 

The  ruins  of  manhood  there  displayed. 

My  favorite  haunts  were  the  solitudes 

Where  some  crystal  river  winds  through  the  woods  ; 

And  I  could  not  remain  unwearied  long 

With  the  barren  slope  and  the  listless  throng. 

From  the  stream's  pollution  I  turned  and  sighed, 

To  remember  some  plunge  in  a  clear,  blue  tide  ; 

Or  thought  of  fair  springs  in  familiar  dells, 

As  I  gazed  untempted  in  muddied  wells. 

I  hated  filth,  and  all  seemed  unclean  ; 

I  hated  selfishness,  all  seemed  mean. 

I  loved  my  kind  ;  could  I  fail  to  loathe 

What  I  saw  in  captor  and  captive  both  ? 

I  gloried  in  strength,  yet  weakness  came. 
I  was  bold  and  proud  ;  and  yet  whelmed  in  shame. 
I  despised  myself  ;  nor  would  I  exempt 
Aught  else  from  the  ban  of  my  harsh  contempt ; 
And  so  the  worst  of  my  woes  began 
In  losing  faith  in  my  fellow-man. 
29 


Cbc  Spring  at  BnDersonville 


I  loved  the  nation,  and  in  the  strife, 

To  serve  its  cause,  I  had  risked  my  life  ; 

But  the  nation,  asserting  a  plausible  lie, 

To  cover  a  cold  hard  policy, 

Left  its  captured  soldiers  to  rot  and  die. 

And  I  lost  my  faith  in  the  nation  too, 

Though  I  held  to  my  oath  of  service  true. 

I  revered  the  creed  that  the  Saviour  taught, 

And  I  found  it  everywhere  set  at  naught — 

Save  a  single  priest,  not  a  creature  came 

To  comfort  us  there  in  the  Saviour's  name. 

I  looked  at  the  want  and  woe  around, 

Till  the  earth  itself  seemed  unhallowed  ground. 

Who  created  for  strife  these  warring  men, 

And  looked  down  serene  on  this  prison  pen  ? 

Who  ruled  for  evil  the  wretched  world 

That  his  breath  had  into  the  ether  whirled  ? 

And  at  last  I  drew  the  dread  inference 

Against  a  divine  Omnipotence, 

Or  a  loving  supreme  Intelligence. 

I  said  as  of  old  in  my  scorn  of  fate  : 

"  He  can  and  He  will  not  " — a  thing  to  hate  ; 

Or,  saddest  of  all  our  human  cries, 

"  He  will  and  He  cannot " — a  thing  to  despise. 

30 


£be  Spring  at  SnDersomnlle 


I  see  you  disposed  to  call  a  halt 
And  declare  my  reasoning  all  at  fault. 
"  You  think  it  unfair  to  condemn  mankind 
On  a  single  test  to  one  spot  confined." 
"  The  refusal  to  grant  an  exchange,"  you  say, 
' '  May  have  shortened  the  war  by  many  a  day, 
And  though  hard  and  cruel  to  foe  and  friend, 
May  have  proved  most  merciful  in  the  end." 
4 '  And  why  should  a  creed  be  straight  denied 
When  men  who  profess  it  have  merely  lied  ?  " 
' '  And  who  may  measure  eternal  years 
By  his  petty  personal  hopes  and  fears, 
Or  from  finite  knowledge  in  finite  spheres 
Assume  to  fathom,  and  judge  and  asperse 
The  God  of  a  boundless  universe  ?" 
I  grant  the  objections  ;  but  still  maintain 
That  to  prove  a  doubt,  or  a  faith,  were  vain  ; 
Conviction  is  often  the  most  intense 
That  is  formed  on  imperfect  evidence. 
I  reasoned  like  skeptics  everywhere  ; 
And  a  fearful  fact  was  my  own  despair  ! 

The  dead-line  rail  was  a  constant  lure  ; 
But  a  single  memory  soft  and  pure 
31 


Gbe  Spring  at  BnOersonvtlle 


Seemed  suggesting  ever  a  joy  to  come, 
And  a  happy  life  and  a  love-lit  home. 
Though  I  deemed  it  false  it  was  sweet  no  less, 
And  had  something  of  power  to  soothe  and  bless. 
So  I  lived  to  dream  of  a  calm  June  night 
With  the  clear  full  moon  and  the  stars  alight, 
The  eve  of  the  morn  that  we  marched  away, 
When  tender  thoughts  in  all  hearts  held  sway, 
And  a  brown-eyed  girl  had  bid  me  good-bye 
At  her  father's  gate,  with  a  smothered  sigh. 

Ah  well,  to  the  end  !  On  an  August  eve 
Huge  billows  of  clouds  began  to  heave 
And  hurry  across  the  darkening  sky, 
And  we  heard  the  pines  in  the  forest  sigh, 
The  rush  of  the  wind,  and  the  thunder's  crack, 
As  the  lightning  leaped  through  the  deepening  rack  ; 
Of  a  sudden  a  southern  storm  had  risen, 
And  broke  in  splendor  above  the  prison. 
How  the  rain  with  a  hissing  swish  came  down 
And  drenched  the  roofs  of  our  tented  town  ! 
For  hours  together  the  deluge  poured, 
And  the  swollen  stream  in  torrents  roared  ; 
It  rent  a  breach  in  the  pine  stockade, 
32 


Cbe  Spring  at  BnDersonville 


And  the  guards  on  the  walls  ran  off  afraid, 
And  the  battery  guns  in  warning  bayed  — 
Discomfort,  confusion  on  every  hand, 
But  withal  a  sense  of  the  wild  and  grand  ! 
And  in  a  moment  a  thing  befell 
Such  as  men  of  old  called  a  miracle. 

A  spear-like  thrust  of  a  lightning  flash 
Cut  into  the  slope  with  a  sudden  gash, 
And  after  the  thunder's  attendant  crash 
There  followed  the  sound  of  a  fountain's  splash — 
The  trenchant  stroke  of  the  heavenly  blade 
Had  opened  a  spring  near  the  east  stockade  ! 

There  came  to  me  in  the  glory  and  rush 
Of  the  storm,  and  the  new-born  water's  gush, 
A  revival  of  faith,  the  quickening  sense 
Of  o'erruling  care  and  providence. 
I  had  felt  the  glow  of  a  Power  divine, 
Touched  the  garment's  hem  of  far-off  Design  ! 
I  knew  !  —  through  no  process  of  reason's  stress,, 
But  a  simple  fact  of  my  consciousness. 
I  rose  in  my  rags  and  my  filth  elate, 
With  a  heart  of  cheer  for  my  evil  fate  ; 
33 


ttbe  Spring  at  Sn&ersonvflle 


Though  the  body  was  weak  the  soul  felt  strong, 

And  ready  to  break  into  jubilant  song. 

It  was  mine  no  longer  to  pine  and  mope  ; 

The  way  was  made  for  the  gush  of  hope. 

It  was  mine  no  longer  to  doubt  and  fear 

And  watch  my  comrades  with  evil  sneer  ; 

There  seemed  something  immortal  in  each  and  all — 

In  the  very  guards  round  the  prison  wall ; 

Yea,  even  the  cruel  and  cowardly  Wirtz 

Had  a  task  to  do  —  and  its  grim  deserts. 

As  when  one  journeys  in  darkness  on 
Till  even  remembrance  of  form  seems  gone, 
And  the  blackness  around  a  gloomy  void, 
And  hidden  order  as  if  destroyed  — 
So  had  I  fared.     And  then,  behold. 
It  lightens  ;  the  midnight  is  backward  rolled, 
And  the  trees,  and  the  hills,  and  each  grain-clad 

field, 

And  the  arching  sky  are  once  more  revealed  ; 
And  the  traveller  laughs  and  takes  heart  of  grace 
At  the  glimpse  of  the  path  and  quickens  his  pace — 
It  was  so  with  me.     Though  the  glory  paled, 
Its  effect  remained  and  its  force  prevailed. 
34 


Spring  at  Bn&ersonvtlle 


The  darkness  of  misery  closed  around, 

But  my  soul  trod  firmly  and  knew  the  ground, 

And  kept  the  vision  of  distant  heights 

Aglow  in  the  flush  of  supernal  lights. 

They  made  a  trough  for  that  fountain's  flow 

That  came  clear  as  crystal  and  cold  as  snow  ; 

And  daily  I  drank  of  its  lucent  wave, 

For  it  seemed  informed  with  a  power  to  save — 

That  kept  me  living  which  made  me  brave. 

"  The  storm  was  a  thing  of  law,"  you  say  ; 
"  Some  heated  current  from  far  away  ; 
Some  sudden  change  of  magnetic  state 
That  had  nothing  to  do  with  man  or  fate." 
It  may  be  so.     Let  who  will  insist 
That  the  tempests  blow  where  the  scholars  list. 
"  And  the  water  too  was  but  hidden  there 
When  the  stroke  of  the  lightning  pierced  its  lair  ; 
And  it  flowed  by  law  from  some  distant  source, 
And  retook  by  chance  an  abandoned  course." 
Why  not  ?     For  water  must  have  its  will 
Through  lonely  valley  and  lofty  hill, 
And  its  secret  paths,  they  be  hard  to  trace, 
And  we  only  guess  its  abiding  place. 
35 


Cbe  Spring  at  BnOersomXHe 


"  Moreover,  if  God  should  interfere 
On  a  sudden  whim  in  our  paltry  sphere,' 
And  suspend  universal,  eternal  laws 
In  behalf  of  a  human  and  temporal  cause, 
Is  it  well  he  should  do  no  greater  thing 
With  his  thunderbolt  than  to  start  a  spring  ? 
His  coming  should  bring  an  abiding  peace, 
The  captive's  solace  in  quick  release, 
The  death  of  sin  and  the  balm  of  pain, 
The  lie's  defeat  and  the  truth's  long  reign. " 
This  thought,  be  assured,  was  often  mine  ; 
But  the  knot  is  one  I  might  ne'er  untwine. 
Enough  that  to  me,  in  storm  and  flame, 
My  faith  in  an  all-wise  Sovereign  came. 
Without  it,  my  body,  this  many  a  day, 
Might  have  mouldered  slowly  to  Georgia  clay  ; 
Without  it,  this  home  I  might  never  have  seen  ; 
Without  it,  you  might  never  have  been  ; 
Without  it,  she,  in  the  garden  there, 
Might  have  felt  the  sorrow  of  love's  despair  ; 
And  without  it,  alas,  I  might  not  care  ! 

And  so  we  will  not  discuss  your  doubt ; 
It  cannot  be  reasoned  in  or  out. 


Spring  at  BnDersonville 


Let  it  work  its  way  ;  I  am  not  afraid  ; 

And  would  not  hinder,  and  cannot  aid. 

But  though  faith  seem  false  and  though  doubt  look 

true, 
There  shall  be  no  quarrel  between  us  two  ! 


37 


(Beneral's  2>eatb. 


r*HE  general  dashed  along  the  road 
*       Amid  the  pelting  rain  ; 
How  joyously  his  bold  face  glowed 
To  hear  our  cheers'  refrain  ! 

His  blue  blouse  napped  in  wind  and  wet, 
His  boots  were  splashed  with  mire, 

But  round  his  lips  a  smile  was  set, 
And  in  his  eyes  a  fire. 

A  laughing  word,  a  gesture  kind,  — 

We  did  not  ask  for  more, 
With  thirty  weary  miles  behind, 

A  weary  fight  before. 

The  gun  grew  light  to  every  man, 
The  cross  belts  ceased  their  stress, 

As  onward  to  the  column's  van 
We  watched  our  leader  press. 

38 


tlbc  CJeneraPs  Deatb 


Within  an  hour  we  saw  him  lie, 

A  bullet  in  his  brain, 
His  manly  face  turned  to  the  sky 

And  beaten  by  the  rain. 


39 


THUomen  anfc  SolMers. 


TO  save  the  nation  with  its  dower, 
The  sanctity  of  home  to  keep, 
To  guard  fair  freedom  in  its  flower, 
The  soldiers  die  lest  women  weep  : 
The  pang  of  parting  pierces  deep, 
And  sorrow  brims  the  tear-dimmed  eye 

And  vexes  dream-entangled  sleep  ; 
The  women  weep  that  soldiers  die. 


The  storm  of  battle  in  its  power  ! 

How  far  the  smoky  flashes  leap, 
How  fast  the  lethal  rain-drops  shower  ! 

The  soldiers  die  lest  women  weep  ! 

Homeward  the  battle  echoes  creep 
'Neath  incensed  arches  of  the  sky, 

O'er  fields  that  hireling  hands  must  reap ; 
The  women  weep  that  soldiers  die  ! 
40 


"Cdomen  anD  Soldiers 


Ah,  captive,  pining  hour  by  hour, 
Or  cast  in  battle's  burial  heap, 

Or  held  in  fever's  haunted  tower, 
The  soldiers  die  lest  women  weep : 
But  howsoe'er  adown  death's  steep 

They  sink  with  sacrificial  sigh, 

Drear  woe  o'er  other  lives  must  sweep  ; 

The  women  weep  that  soldiers  die  ! 

At  any  cost  one  good  is  cheap — 
The  soldiers  die  lest  women  weep  : 

And  this  reward  is  great  and  high — 
The  women  weep  that  soldiers  die. 


Ube  "Returning  IDolunteers. 

\1 /E  left  the  sun-bathed  South  behind 

»  "       'Mid  giant-leaved  bananas, 
'Mid  cypress  trees  with  vines  entwined, 

And  cotton-sown  savannas  ; 
The  roses  bloomed,  the  orange  shone, 

The  fields  of  rice  were  flooded  ; 
But  here  the  winter  scarce  seemed  gone, 
The  maples  only  budded  ; 

Yet  though  the  skies  wore  darker  stoles, 
And  though  the  woods  grew  dumber, 
We  bore  the  season  in  our  souls, 
And  with  us  brought  the  summer  ! 

A  winter  sad,  ah,  friends  so  dear, 

You  spent  in  lonesome  sorrow  ; 
While  every  moaning  wind  waked  fear 

And  bodings  for  the  morrow. 
But  home  we  came,  and  leaves  grew  green  ; 

The  good  house  shakes  with  laughter, 
42 


Sbe  "Returning  Volunteers 


Since  olden  times  there  has  not  been 
Such  joy  beneath  its  rafter. 

For  though  the  skies  wore  darker  stoles, 
And  though  the  woods  grew  dumber, 
We  bore  the  season  in  our  souls, 
And  with  us  brought  the  summer  ! 


43 


ZTbe  IReason  1db\?. 

DECORATION   DAY,    1872. 

FAR  in  the  East  by  Ganges'  tide 
The  subtle,  brown-faced  Hindus  toil ; 
They  cringe  before  a  master's  pride, 

They  see  their  land  a  despot's  spoil, 
Their  olden  temples  are  despised, 

They  cannot  reap  the  fields  they  till, 
And  all  sweet  things  that  make  life  prized 
They  hold  but  at  a  foeman's  will. 

And  why  ?    They  were  not  bold  and  brave, 
They  still  contemned  the  soldier's  glaive, 
And  honored  not  the  soldier's  grave. 

Between  the  good  old  German  hills 
Far  seaward  flows  the  storied  Rhine  ; 

Along  the  vine-clad  banks  there  thrills 
A  nation's  triumph  half  divine. 

Beyond,  the  hearths  and  homes  are  free, 
Life's  blessings  crown  the  German  race  ; 
44 


Cbe  TReason 


And  through  the  world  where'er  he  be, 
How  proudly  glows  the  German's  face  ! 

And  why  ?     They  were  both  wise  and  brave, 
They  trusted  to  the  soldier's  glaive, 
They  honored  still  the  soldier's  grave  ! 

Far  cradled  in  Atlantic  seas, 

There  lies  a  group  of  little  isles, 
Throughout  the  world  in  every  breeze 

Their  flag  a  proud  defiance  smiles. 
Far  millions  feel  their  ruling  hand, 

The  orient  mines  are  digged  for  them  ; 
The  wealth  of  many  a  distant  land 
Is  garnered  for  their  diadem. 

And  why  ?     They  have  been  wise  and  brave, 
Their  scepter  was  the  soldier's  glaive, 
They  honored  still  the  soldier's  grave  ! 

On  sunny  France  a  pall  of  woe 

Has  like  a  sombre  cloud  come  down, 

She  saw  her  loftiest  laid  low, 
She  saw  the  smoke  of  many  a  town. 

When  struggle  came  her  strength  gave  way, 
Yet  look — there's  danger  in  her  eyes  ; 
45 


Cbe  "Reason 


And  nations  round  her  watching  say, 
' '  Beware  !     The  tigress  may  arise  !  " 

And  why  ?    Though  beaten  she  is  brave, 
And  still  she  grips  the  soldier's  glaive. 
And  honors  still  the  soldier's  grave  ! 

As  wide  as  any  vision's  bound 

Can  clip  our  broad  dominions  in, 
For  peace  and  freedom,  sacred  ground, 

We  hold  the  land  our  sires  did  win. 
The  rights  of  all  beneath  the  law 

We  guard  within  our  rich  domain, 
We  bend  to  none  with  slavish  awe, 
The  good  of  all  we  dare  maintain. 

And  why  ?    We  have  been  true  and  brave, 
And  boldly  grasped  the  soldier's  glaive, 
And  honored  still  the  soldier's  grave. 

Mayhap  when  come  those  happy  morns, 

That  age  the  olden  poets  sang, 
When  figs  spring  freely  on  the  thorns, 

And  luscious  grapes  from  thistles  hang. 
When  round  the  quiet  cottage  door 

The  tigers  with  the  children  play, 
46 


"Reason 


When  in  the  heart  of  man  no  more 

Man's  stormy  passions  hold  their  sway, 

We  can  forget  to  praise  the  brave, 

And  fling  aside  the  soldier's  glaive, 

And  honor  not  the  soldier's  grave  ! 


47 


TTbe  t>opes  of 


OUR  past  is  bright  and  grand 
In  the  purpling  tints  of  time  ; 
And  the  present  of  our  land 

Points  to  glories  more  sublime. 
For  our  destiny  is  won  ; 

And  *t  is  ours  to  lead  the  van 
Of  the  nations  marching  on, 
Of  the  moving  hosts  of  man  ! 

Yes,  the  Starry  Flag  alone, 
Shall  wave  above  the  van 

Of  the  nations  sweeping  on, 
Of  the  moving  hosts  of  man  ! 

We  are  sprung  from  noble  sires 
As  were  ever  sung  in  song  ; 

We  are  bold  with  Freedom's  fires, 
We  are  rich,  and  wise,  and  strong. 

On  us  are  freely  showered 
The  gifts  of  every  clime, 
48 


Cbe  Dopes  of  dfcan 


And  we  're  the  richest  dowered 
Of  all  the  heirs  of  Time  ! 

Brothers  then,  in  Union  strong, 
We  shall  ever  lead  the  van, 

As  the  nations  sweep  along 
To  fulfil  the  hopes  of  man  ! 

We  are  brothers,  and  we  know 

That  our  Union  is  a  tower, 
When  the  fiercest  whirlwinds  blow, 

And  the  darkest  tempests  lower  ! 
We  shall  sweep  the  land  and  sea, 

While  we  march,  in  Union  great, 
Thirty  millions  of  the  free 

With  the  steady  stride  of  fate  ! 

Brothers  then,  in  Union  strong. 
Let  us  ever  lead  the  van 

As  the  nations  sweep  along, 
To  fulfil  the  hopes  of  man  ! 

See  our  prairies,  sky-surrounded  ! 
See  our  hills  with  golden  veins  ! 
See  our  waving  woods,  unbounded, 
49 


t>opes  of  Oban 


And  our  cities  on  the  plains  ! 
See  the  oceans  kiss  our  strand, 

Oceans  stretched  from  pole  to  pole  ! 
See  our  mighty  lakes  expand, 

And  our  giant  rivers  roll ! 

Such  a  land,  and  such  alone, 
Should  be  leader  of  the  van 

Of  the  nations  sweeping  on 
To  fulfil  the  hopes  of  man  ! 

Yes,  the  spirit  of  our  land, 

The  young  giant  of  the  West, 
With  the  waters  in  his  hand, 

With  the  forests  for  his  crest, — ' 
To  our  heart's  quick,  proud  pulsations, 

To  our  shouts  that  still  increase. 
Shall  yet  lead  on  the  nations 

To  their  brotherhood  of  peace  ! 

Yes,  Columbia  great  and  strong 

Shall  forever  lead  the  van, 
As  the  nations  sweep  along 

To  fulfil  the  hopes  of  man  ! 
1861. 

50 


IRew  3£orfe  H>as  at  tbe  World's 
ffair. 

IT  happens  oftener  than  we  deem 
That  we  should  do  the  good  unsought,  un- 
known, 

Of  which  we  did  not  dream  ; 
That   from   the   good   we   aimed   at   we    should 

swerve, 

And  in  our  dear  delusion,  so  subserve 
God's  purposes,  as  we  defeat  our  own. 

The  Genoese  who  sailed 
A  westward  course,  in  the  wild  hope  to  find 

The  distant  Indies,  failed  ; 
But  in  the  quest  for  the  rich  Orient 
He  touched  the  fringes  of  a  continent 
And  gained  a  nobler  blessing  for  his  kind, 

Though  dying  unaware 
Of  the  full  fruitage  of  his  enterprise 
51 


flew  l^orfc  Bag  at  tbe  ffair 


And  all  its  glory  rare, 
And  half  believing  Orinoco's  tide, 
Far  shining  through  the  tropic  forests  wide, 
The  stream  around  the  earthly  Paradise. 

The  Englishman  who  sought 
A  land-locked  passage  unto  far  Cathay 

In  vain,  not  vainly  wrought ; 
Since  the  great  city  of  the  younger  World 
Has  risen  where  his  weary  sails  were  furled, 
And  Hudson  sings  his  name  in  crooning  spray. 

The  earnest  multitudes 
That  hither  came  from  many  a  distant  strand 

And  braved  the  solitudes, 
After  the  hope  of  brilliant  conquest  failed, 
And  the  fierce  fever  of  adventure  paled, 
Thought  little  of  the  future  of  the  land. 

These  simply  yearned  for  peace  ; 
These  for  the  right  to  conscience  and  to  creed, 

And  hate's  surcease ; 

And  all  rejoiced  to  hold  some  share  of  soil, 
Content  to  spend  themselves  in  honest  toil, 
And  wait  the  harvest  from  the  planted  seed. 
52 


flew  lorfc  Dag  at  tbe  jfafr 


With  nature  face  to  face, 
From  old  condition  and  convention  free. 

They  grew  in  power  and  grace  ; 
Alert,  elate,  resourceful,  confident, 
By  wood  and  stream  unawed  they  came  and  went 
And  drew  the  breath  of  ancient  liberty. 

They  had  for  heritage 
Old  Europe's  maxims  and  experience 

Of  soldier,  slave,  and  sage  ; 
But  earth  was  round  them  in  her  virgin  youth, 
From  her  they  caught  at  primal  right  and  truth, 
And  touched  the  meanings  of  Omnipotence. 

They  never  sought,  in  sooth. 
The  Eden  visioned  in  Columbus'  mind, 

Nor  Leon's  fount  of  youth, 
Nor  cared  if  Raleigh's  golden  city  gleam 
Afar  in  maze  of  misty  hill  and  stream, 
Nor  wished  to  voyage  after  Hudson's  Ind. 

They  toiled,  and  blest  the  spade  ; 
They  fought  and  did  not  scorn  to  praise  the  sword  ; 

They  kept  the  laws  they  made  ; 
They  hated  privilege  and  laughed  at  birth 
That  brought  no  heritage  of  grace  and  worth  ; 
They  suffered  and  submitted  to  the  Lord. 
53 


•Revo  Korfc  2>ag  at  tbe  ffatr 


And  when  occasion  rose, 
Each  frankly  pledged  his  honor,  fortune,  life, 

Against  oppressive  foes ; 
And  fusing  into  loving  brotherhood 
In  flame  of  sacrifice  and  smoke  of  blood, 
There  came  a  nation  from  the  happy  strife — 

In  all  things  brave  and  new, 
With   realms   of    mountain,    lake,    and    sky-bound 

plain, 

And  to  this  teaching  true — 
Man's  dignity,  equality  of  men, 
A  sovereignty  in  every  citizen, 
The  people's  good  the  guaranty  to  reign. 

O  sailors,  bold  and  brave, 
Of  olden  time,  that  took  the  wandering  spray 

And  climbed  the  unknown  wave, 
Although  we  give  to  each  due  meed  of  fame, 
And  wreathe  with  laurel  every  sea-sweet  name, 
Ye  did  not  find  nor  make  America  ! 

The  hope,  the  love,  the  thought 
Of  millions  joined  to  nourish  as  it  grew  ; 

The  toil  of  ages  wrought 

Through  nature's  ample  dower  of  mine  and  field, 
54 


flew  H?orfc  Bag  at  tbe  Jfafr 


And  many  a  soldier  fell  across  his  shield, 
Ere  we  could  pause  to  find  your  sea-dreams  true ; 

Lo,  many  a  costly  bale 
Beyond  the  scope  of  Asian  caravan  ; 

A  fountain  in  the  vale 

Whose  mists  resolve  the  time-worn  race's  ills  ; 
A  golden  city  in  the  distant  hills  ; 
Almost  an  Eden  for  regenerate  man  ! 

No  wonder  we  rejoice  ! 
Yet  breaking  through  the  jubilee  of  praise 

There  comes  a  warning  voice, 
The  tale  of  those  that  won  but  could  not  hold, 
Of  those  that  rose  with  steel  and  fell  with  gold, 
The  great  republics  of  the  ancient  days. 

A  touch  of  selfish  greed, 
The  taint  of  luxury  in  social  health, 

The  hates  of  class  or  creed, 
The  lure  in  politics  to  civic  guilt 
Might  sap  the  stately  home  the  Fathers  built 
And  take  the  household  spirit  as  by  stealth  ; 

And  in  some  coming  time, 
A  generation  might  arouse  in  fear 
55 


flew  S?orfc  Dag  at  tbe  Jfair 


And  sense  of  loss  and  crime, 
To  find  the  New  World  faith  and  feeling  dead, 
The  Old  World's  standards  ruling  in  their  stead, 
And  nothing  but  another  Europe  here  ! 

Due  honor  to  the  lands 
From  which  we  sprung  ;  all  hail  the  ancient  fame 

Of  kindred  hearts  and  hands  ! 
But  we  began  with  all  that  they  had  won, 
A  counsel  of  perfection  calls  us  on  ; 
To  do  no  more  than  they  have  done  were  shame. 

'T  were  better  far,  I  hold, 
To  see  the  Iroquois  supreme  once  more 

Among  the  forests  old, 

From  hill-girt  Hudson's  current  broad  and  slow, 
To  where  'twixt  Erie  and  Ontario 
Leaps  green  Niagara  with  a  giant's  roar  ; 

To  see  the  paths  pursued 
By  commerce  with  her  flying  charioteers 

Tangled  with  solitude, 
The  Indian  trail  uncoil  among  the  trees, 
The  council  runner's  torch  against  the  breeze 
Its  signal  fling — "  the  smoke  that  disappears  "  ; 
56 


flew  l^orfc  2)as  at  tbe  Jfaic 


To  have  the  wigwams  rise 
By  summer-haunted  Horicon  so  fair  ; 
Fruit  blooms  and  grain-gold  dyes 
Fade  from  the  shadows  in  Cayuga's  tide, 
The  vineyards  fail  on  Keuka's  sun-beat  side, 
The  mill-crowned  cliffs  of  Genesee  made  bare. 

'T  were  more  to  my  desire 
To  see  Manhattan's  self  laid  desolate, 

Drear  as  another  Tyre, 
Her  palaces  in  ruins  overset, 
Her  shores  begirt  with  weed  and  drying  net, 
And  not  a  lettered  stone  to  tell  her  fate  ! 

Yea,  and  her  rival  here, 
Arising  like  the  dome  of  Kubla  Khan 

In  poet's  vision  clear, 
Dissolved  as  swift  again  along  the  strand 
To  grassy  swamps  and  dunes  of  sifted  sand, 
Spurned  by  the  scornful  spray  of  Michigan  ! 

Such  things  must  come  again, 
Wherever  in  their  hope  and  virtue  rise 

A  race  of  wise,  free  men  ; 

But  what  were  grain  field,  railway,  granite  street, 
Or  golden  ornament,  or  gallant  fleet, 
57 


flew  HJorfc  Dag  at  tbe  ffaic 


If  he  who  made,  whose  service  glorifies, 

Should  suffer,  shrink,  and  dwarf, 
In  plain,  or  mart,  or  by  his  factory  wheels, 

Or  on  the  crowded  wharf  ? — 
Since  not  the  mountain  in  his  cloudy  stole, 
Nor  the  great  sea,  outranks  the  conscious  soul 
That  knows  their  glory  and  their  beauty  feels  ! 

But  out  on  dreams  of  dread  ! 
In  him  I  put  my  working  faith  and  trust, 

A  king  in  heart  and  head, 
Who  masters  forces,  shapes  material  things, 
Who  loves  his  kind,   whose   common  sense  has 

wings, 

The  true  American,  the  kindly  just, 
Full  prompt  in  word  and  deed, 
And  ready,  to  make  good  some  human  hope 

In  time  of  utter  need, 
To  cross  at  Delaware  the  ice's  gorge, 
Or  tread  blood-boltered  snow  at  Valley  Forge, 
Or  keep  at  Gettysburg  the  gun-shook  slope  ! 

And  greater  faith  I  ask 
For  that  mysterious  power  that  watches  o'er 
58 


flew  HJorfc  2>ag  at  tbe  ffafr 


The  workman  at  his  task  ; 
That  shapes  his  effort  to  the  higher  aim 
And  will  not  let  his  straying  fingers  frame 
A  graven  thing — to  worship  and  adore. 


59 


to  Battle. 


BEFORE  the  cock  began  to  crow 
We  took  our  morning  meal, 
And  by  the  torch's  trembling  glow 

We  girt  ourselves  in  steel  ; 
While  wintry  thoughts  around  us  fell 

Like  blossom  showers  in  June, 
For  weal  or  woe  we  bade  farewell 
At  setting  of  the  moon. 

As  from  the  castle-court  we  rode 

And  down  the  village  street, 
Faint  signs  of  dawn  far  eastward  showed, 

The  larks  rose  up  to  greet  ; 
A  swell  of  sorrow's  sprayless  wave, 

A  sad,  foreboding  pang, 
Marked  every  stride  our  chargers  gave, 

And  every  weapon's  clang. 

But  morn  grows  bright  ;  the  scented  wind 
Folds  back  across  the  hills 
60 


to  Battle 


The  curtains  of  the  mist  untwined 
From  meadows  veined  with  rills. 

Past  maid  and  churl  in  sad  amaze 
We  hold  our  stern  advance, 

Till  sheaves  of  light  with  greeting  rays 
Illumine  every  lance. 

How  all  our  spirits  feel  the  charm  ! 

Hopes  quicken  one  by  one  ; 
Dead  joys  in  every  heart  rise  warm, 

Touched  by  the  wizard  sun  ; 
Our  leader  turns  with  smiling  face 

And  vails  his  flowing  crest 
To  kiss  the  sign  of  lady's  grace 

That 's  bound  about  his  breast. 

No  kerchief  in  my  helmet  shines, 

No  silken  sleeve  or  glove  ; 
I  watch  our  long  advancing  lines, 

Our  banner  folds  above. 
Whate'er  may  come,  I  cannot  care, 

I  wait  without  a  sigh  ; 
My  past  it  roundeth  full  and  fair, 

If  I  this  day  should  die  ! 

61 


TTbe  Xast  of  t)is  IRace. 

THOUGH  many  a  friend  of  mine  be  gone, 
And  squandered  many  a  pleasure, 
This  world  seems  fair  to  look  upon 

And  rich  with  varied  treasure  : 
There  's  honey's  scent,  and  taste  of  wine, 

And  landscape  tinted  mellow  ; 
There 's  many  a  summer  blossom  fine, 
And  fruit  of  autumn  yellow. 

For  youth's  sweet  sake,  I  trust  that  all 

Old  beauties  round  us  cluster  ; 
For  me  the  rose  leaves  daily  fall 

And  glories  lose  their  lustre. 
I  take  no  joy  in  deed  or  dream, 

Nor  care  for  night  or  morrow  : 
But  like  a  lily  on  its  stream 

My  heart  rocks  in  its  sorrow. 

I  've  gaily  rode  through  wheaten  fields 
Of  amber  stem  and  tassel  ; 
62 


Xast  of  fyie  IRace 


I  've  watched  the  sheen  of  ordered  shields  ; 

I  've  spent  long  nights  in  wassail ; 
I  've  felt  the  thrill  in  heralds'  calls 

And  in  the  ring  of  lances  ; 
And  harpers,  singing  in  old  halls, 

Have  wrapt  me  into  trances  ; 

I  've  seen  the  palm  tree  wave  and  wail 

Within  a  crumbled  palace 
And  ivy  over  altars  trail 

That  shrined  the  Holy  Chalice  ; 
I  've  known  the  joy  of  swaying  man  ; 

I  've  felt  the  love  of  woman  ; 
I  've  stood  by  friends  when  red  blood  ran — 

And  never  shrank  from  foeman. 

But,  ah,  what  matter  that  I  ride 

Beside  my  monarch's  bridle, 
And  in  the  council  halls  decide, 

And  move  the  soldiers'  idol  ? 
You  '11  sleep  the  same  when  you  lie  down 

Upon  your  earthen  pillow, 
Whether  you  win  a  laurel  crown 

Or  wear  a  wreath  of  willow  ! 
63 


a  Cavalier's 


f~**  OME  kiss  my  gallant  sword, 

^"  '     And  sprinkle  it  with  wine 
This  night  it  won  its  lord 
A  joy  and  hope  divine  ! 

Oft  in  these  gloomy  days 
That  cloud  our  stormy  isle, 

It  earned  a  leader's  praise  — 
To-night  a  woman's  smile  ! 

Behind  its  point,  secure, 
Oft  life  and  honor  lay  — 

To-night  it  guarded  pure 
A  richer  prize  than  they. 

Once  did  the  steadfast  blade 
Our  monarch's  safeguard  prove 

To-night  the  steel  was  swayed 
In  loyalty  to  love  ! 

64 


H  Cavalier's  Swor£>»Son0 


With  myrtle  and  the  rose 
Entwine  it  for  the  stroke  ; 

In  them  it  brighter  glows 

Than  decked  with  bay  or  oak  ! 


THUanfcerfng. 

THE  water  bubbles  o'er  the  gravel, 
It  laughs  a  moment  and  is  gone  ; 
It  would  be  still  if  it  were  stone, 
But  ripples  know  enough  to  travel. 

The  misty  forms  afloat  up  yonder, 

Like  ships  whose  sails  a  fair  wind  fills, 
Might  rest  forever  were  they  hills, 

But  clouds  are  wise  and  fain  would  wander. 

The  wind  it  is  a  merry  rover, 

And  bends  to  kiss  the  rose's  lips  ; 
But  from  embracing  arms  it  slips, 

For  roses  elsewhere  wait  a  lover. 

The  little  bird,  too,  is  a  roamer 

That  flies  and  sings  with  joyous  zest ; 
He  owns  a  house  ?    Ah,  no  ;  his  nest 

Is  but  a  cottage  for  the  summer ! 
66 


TJGlan&ering 


And  over  all  the  Queen  of  Gipsies, 

The  changeful  moon  roves  through  the  skies, 
The  dearer  to  our  mortal  eyes, 

For  all  her  phases  and  eclipses. 

I 

The  spot  we  're  in  belongs  to  sorrow ; 
Why  should  we  suffer  from  its  stress, 
When  we  may  search  for  happiness 

And  hit  on  Paradise  to-morrow  ? 

The  moon  may  know  its  place  ?     I  '11  follow. 

The  ripples  tell?     I  '11  trace  their  sound. 

If  wind  and  cloud  be  thither  bound, 
I  '11  watch  ;  and  I  '11  pursue  the  swallow. 


67 


If  tbe  Wfn&  tttee. 

AN  open  sea,  a  gallant  breeze 
That  drives  our  little  boat — 
How  fast  each  wave  about  us  flees, 
How  fast  the  low  clouds  float ! 

"  We  '11  never  see  the  morning  skies, 
If  the  wind  rise." 
"  If  the  wind  rise, 
We  '11  hear  no  more  of  earthly  lies." 

The  moon  from  time  to  time  breaks  out, 

And  silvers  all  the  sea  ; 
The  billows  toss  their  manes  about ; 
The  little  boat  leaps  free. 
"  We'll  never  see  our  true  love's  eyes, 
If  the  wind  rise." 
"  If  the  wind  rise, 
We  '11  waste  no  more  our  foolish  sighs.' 

She  takes  a  dash  of  foam  before, 
A  dash  of  spray  behind  ; 
68 


If  tbe  TTCUnO  "Rise 


The  wolfish  waves  about  her  roar, 
And  gallop  with  the  wind. 

"  We  '11  see  no  more  the  woodland  dyes, 
If  the  wind  rise." 
"  If  the  wind  rise, 
We  '11  weep  no  more  man's  miseries." 

The  sky  seems  bending  lower  down, 

And  swifter  sweeps  the  gale  ; 
Our  craft  she  shakes  from  keel  to  crown, 
And  dips  her  fragile  sail. 

"  We  may  forgive  our  enemies, 
If  the  wind  rise." 
"If  the  wind  rise, 
We  '11  sup  this  night  in  Paradise." 


69 


Ht  tbe  place  of  mailing. 

WHAT  balm  is  there  in  loud  lament, 
Or  solace  in  the  salt  of  tears  ? 
Can  age's  croon  give  me  content. 

Or  childhood's  plaint  soothe  manhood's  fears? 
No  matter  ;  like  the  sick  man's  whine, 

As  much  a  pang  as  a  relief, 
I  pour  this  nightly  wail  of  mine — 

Ah  me,  my  black  and  bitter  grief  ! 

Hope's  mirage  long  ago  went  down, 

And  faded  fancy's  tropic  weeds  ; 
All  sunken  under  doubt's  dark  frown 

The  trusts  that  pillared  up  my  creeds  ! 
What  thrills  were  of  ambition  born  ; 

What  comfort  twined  round  firm  belief  ; 
How  sweet  seemed  love,  both  flower  and  thorn — 

Ah  me,  my  black  and  bitter  grief  ! 

Truths  I  had  deemed  might  never  fail 
I  've  seen  confuted  one  by  one ; 
70 


Ht  tbc  place  of 


Money  and  might  o'er  right  prevail ; 

A  gifted  soul  die  out  unknown  ; 
A  self-proud  fool  win  wide  applause  ; 

Malice  exile  a  noble  chief  ; 
Hot  hatred  warp  the  deep-grooved  laws — 

Ah  me,  my  black  and  bitter  grief  ! 

A  bright  illusion  still  did  bloom, 

That  one  rich  heart  all  pangs  would  pay, 
And  somewhere  from  the  crib  to  tomb 

Near  Paradise  would  wind  my  way. 
Far  doth  such  consolation  seem, 

And  since  the  frost  has  touched  the  leaf, 
'T  is  vain  of  flower  and  fruit  to  dream — 

Ah  me,  my  black  and  bitter  grief  ! 

"  Creations  of  a  sickly  brain, 

Vague  shapes  of  phantom  woes  are  these. 
What  then  is  labor's  overstrain, 

And  debt,  and  failure,  and  disease, 
And  strife  within  a  home  once  blithe  ? 

Behold  mine  ills,  a  woful  sheaf, 
With  self-contempt  for  binding  wythe — 

Ah  me,  my  black  and  bitter  grief 
71 


Bt  tbe  place  of 


So  made  to  love  the  good  and  fair, 

A  sybarite  in  heart  and  mind, 
A  cruel  lot  is  mine  to  bear — 

Thistles  and  tares  to  reap  and  bind. 
Lethe  for  me  were  wine  of  bliss  ; 

A  welcome  guest  the  final  thief  ; 
Like  love's  first  pledge  a  fever's  kiss — 

Ah  me,  my  black  and  bitter  grief  ! 

So  made  a  tropic  sea  to  sail, 

And  drink  in  joy  mid-summer's  calm, 
Where  Cuban  winds  all  eve  exhale 

The  honey's  scent,  the  flowers'  balm, 
I  northward  drive  with  night  around  ; 

My  sleet-stiff  sails  I  cannot  reef  ; 
The  autumn  gale  aloft  doth  sound — 

Ah  me,  my  black  and  bitter  grief  ! 


t>er 


QOMETIMES  I  sit  and  try  to  trace, 
**-*     In  memory's  records  dim  and  faint, 
The  features  of  my  mother's  face, 
With  the  calm  look  of  gentle  grace 

That  marked  our  household's  quiet  saint. 

The  innocence  of  her  blue  eyes, 

The  winning  smile  about  her  lips, 
Child-simple  and  yet  woman-wise, 
Her  shining  hair,  her  modest  guise, 

All  come  in  turn  ;  each  fades  and  slips. 

I  try  to  fix  them,  but  in  vain  ; 

They  waver,  and  yet  will  not  fuse, 
Howe'er  imagination  strain 
To  form  the  face  that  it  would  feign  — 

Till  on  a  sudden,  as  I  muse, 

There  comes  a  thought  of  her  dear  hands, 
All  wrinkled,  tanned,  and  labor-worn— 
73 


t>er 


And  there  the  simple  woman  stands, 
To  meet  her  duty's  hard  demands, 

Among  the  children  she  has  borne  ! 

No  work  nor  written  word  remains, 
Nor  picture  worthy  to  approve  ; 
But  read  in  knotted  joints  and  veins, 
And  tendons  strong,  and  honest  stains, 
The  tale  of  service  and  of  love  ! 

O  hands  of  ministry,  that  wrought 

In  constant  care,  through  weal  and  woe, 
Nor  rest  by  crib  or  coffin  caught, 
This  pang  is  mine  —  I  never  thought 
To  kiss  your  fingers  long  ago  ! 


74 


TTbe  Brab  ipoets, 

THE  caliph  Abdalmelik,  in  whose  reign 
The  Saracenic  conquest  spread  from  Spain 
To  Hindustan,  though  full  of  cares  of  state 
And  vexed  with  plots  of  rivals,  small  and  great, 
Loved  poets  and  their  praise,  nor  wanted  time 
To  test  himself  the  devious  ways  of  rhyme. 
Cruel  he  was  in  policy  and  deed, 
Yet  seemed  he  gentler  hearted  than  his  creed. 
He  liked  sweet  things,  although  so  foul  of  breath 
Flies  touched  his  face  to  flutter  to  their  death  ; 
His  bounty,  that  came  else  as  sweat  from  stone, 
Flowed  free,  it  seemed,  for  poetry  alone. 
Full  oft  the  mouth  that  spoke  a  happy  phrase 
Was  filled  with  jewels  for  the  words  of  praise, 
And  not  to  singers  did  the  caliph  stint 
The  Arabian  coins  he  was  the  first  to  mint. 
He  called  about  him,  when  in  gloom  one  day, 
Three  poets,  masters  of  the  lyric  lay, 
Young  Omar,  Djamil,  and  the  gay  Kutheir, 
And  in  the  midst  he  set  a  camel  rare 
75 


Cbe  Srab  poets 


With  load  of  gold,  and  said  :     "  His  prize  it  proves 
Who  sings  the  tenderest  strain  of  her  he  loves." 

Kutheir  began,  and,  confident  and  strong, 
He  sang  his  mistress'  praise  in  this  gay  song  : 

"  By  father's  beard,  I  swear,  and  mother's  name, 
That  Azza's  rivals  well  may  blush  for  shame  ! 

"  When  lovely  women  come  to  me  and  sue, 
And  whisper  Azza  is  not  fair  and  true, 

' '  I  laugh  in  scorn  ;  their  cheeks  are  not  as  sweet 
To  me  as  are  the  soles  of  Azza's  feet. 

"  Should  my  love,  Azza,  and  the  Morning  Star 
Contend  as  to  whose  glories  brighter  are, 

"  No  judge  would  hesitate  to  grant  the  prize 
Unto  the  beauty  of  my  Azza's  eyes !  " 

Tradition  says  that  Djamil's  love  was  worn 
And  thin,  but  that  he  laughed  the  fools  to  scorn 
76 


Brab  poets 


Who  saw  her  only  with  their  eyes,  nor  knew 
How  rich  her  mind  was,  and  her  heart  how  true. 
The  girl  he  wooed  in  many  a  tender  strain 
And  won,  he  thought  of  then,  and  sang  again : 

"  I  swear,  Butheima — and  in  very  sooth 
Let  blindness  strike  me  if  I  swear  untruth — 

' '  By  every  consecrated  beast  I  swear, 

For  which  the  altar  waits,  the  knife  lies  bare, 

"  That  love  has  crushed  my  heart,  and  I  am  fain 
To  wish  life  ended,  weary  with  the  pain  ! 

"  But  if,  when  I  am  dead,  some  exorcist 
Should  seek  to  start  this  pulse  again — Oh,  list ! 

"  One  word  from  my  beloved's  lips  will  call 
Me  back  to  life,  and  put  aside  the  pall !  " 

A  love  unsatisfied  lit  Omar's  eyes  ; 

He  sang,  I  think,  forgetful  of  the  prize  : 

' '  Oh,  I  could  die  content,  if  thy  fair  face 
I  might  but  kiss  as  death  drew  on  apace  ! 
77 


Cbc  Brab  poets 


4 '  And  I  should  lie  serene  in  death's  eclipse 
Anointed  with  the  dew  of  thy  dear  lips. 

"  Yea,  death  itself  to  me  were  very  sweet, 
Embalmed  with  tears  and  dust  of  thy  fair  feet. 

"Oh,  if  Suleima  in  one  grave  might  dwell 

With  me,  as  comrade, — welcome  heaven  or  hell ! ' 

The  caliph  unto  Omar  made  a  sign  : 

"  O  friend  of  hell,  both  beast  and  gold  are  thine  ! 


Sleeping  anfc 


T  THOUGHT  of  my  love, 
•I     And  dreamed  of  the  richest  of  gardens 
And  glad  with  the  scent  of  the  roses, 
I  wakened  and  thought  of  my  love. 

I  longed  for  my  love, 
And  dreamed  of  a  tropical  fruitage  ; 
And  tasting  the  orange  and  apple, 

I  wakened  and  longed  for  my  love. 

I  sighed  for  my  love, 
And  dreamed  of  a  wonderful  vintage  ; 
And  warm  with  its  nectarous  liquor, 

I  wakened  and  sighed  for  my  love. 

I  hoped  for  my  love, 
And  dreamed  of  a  sunset  in  summer  ; 
And  bathed  in  the  rays  of  its  splendor, 

I  wakened  and  hoped  for  my  love. 

79 


Sleeping  an& 


I  yearned  for  my  love, 

And  dreamed  that  her  arms  were  around  me  ; 
And  thrilled  with  the  touch  of  her  kisses, 

I  wakened  and  yearned  for  my  love. 


80 


Bfter  IRea&ing  Sor&ello. 

AS  when  we  watch  a  landscape  in  a  mist, 
See  here  the   cross  of  a  great  spire  break 

through, 
Note  there  a  coil  of  silver  river  twist, 

Mark  yonder,  half  revealed,  a  mountain  blue 
Struggle  above  the  wind-blown  vapors  gray, 
Hear  lowing  kine  in  many  an  unseen  field, 

And  soft-toned  bells  in  the  dim  distance  swung, 
And,  baffled  sense  to  fancy  giving  way, 

We  fall  to  muse  on  what  may  lie  concealed 
Where  the  thick  fleeces  of  the  air  are  flung  ; — 

So  he  that  reads  Sordello's  story,  sees 
Through  misty  chaos  of  the  song,  arise 

Dim  Alps,  dim  Apennines,  dim  olive  trees, 
And  phantom  spires  thrust  up  to  purple  skies 

From  river-girdled  cities,  with  the  din 
Of  all  the  Middle  Ages  echoing, — 


after  "Reading  SorDelto 


The  clash  of  arms,  the   slaughtered   women's 

screams, 
The  war  cries  of  the  Guelph  and  Ghibelin, 

The  strife  of  mind  and  force,  of  Pope  and  King  ; 
And  on  the  fruitful  gloom  intent,  he  dreams. 

Here  is  a  garden  ;  many  a  silken  tent, 

Dyed  brighter  than  the  flowers,  is  with  the  green 
And  gold  of  orange  fruit  and  foliage  blent  ; 

The  judges  of  the  Court  of  Love  convene, 
Gay  dames  that  throng,  as  bright  and  full  of  bliss 

As  olden  goddesses,  round  one  with  eyes 
Clear  as  the  diamonds  in  her  coronet. 
Ah,  happy  troubadour,  whose  task  it  is 

To  sing  her  praise  !     Her  heart  she  makes  a  prize 
And  gives  it  with  the  Golden  Violet ! 

Unmanly  vision  !     Let  us  put  aside 

The  minstrel's  harp — take  on  the  cross.     Behold 
The  hot  drear  plain  before  us,  as  we  ride, 

The  hot  sky  like  a  burning  scroll  unrolled 
Above  us  !     Hear  the  shrill,  loud  Lelies  thrill ! 
Commend  you  to  the  saints,  good  gentlemen, 

Strike  deep  your  spurs,  lay  lances  low  in  rest, 
The  Holy  City  lies  beyond  the  hill ! 
82 


after  "Reading  Sor&ello 


Welcome  the  onset  of  the  Saracen 

And  Frank,  false  faith  and  true,  the  East  and 
West  ! 

Do  contest  fierce  and  distant  triumph  pall  ? 

And  court  of  love  and  knightly  tournament  ? 
Come,  let  us  sit  upon  this  convent  wall, 

Apart  from  list  and  bower  and  silken  tent, 
And  hear  the  undertone  of  misery 

Unnoted  rising  from  the  peasant  world. 

What  say  you  ?     Shall  the  Holy  Church  endure 
To  see  the  virtues  bound,  the  passions  free, 

The  flags  of  civil  discord  never  furled, 

The  nobles'  pride,  the  sufferings  of  the  poor  ? 

Not  vain  the  fancies  !     Though  so  long  ago 

The  language    died    in    which  you   dream   your 

song  ; 
Though  the  crusaders  failed,  and  the  fierce  flow 

Of  Moslem  power,  once  terrible  and  strong, 
Ebbs  slowly  to  its  Asian  source,  despised  ; 
Though  Italy  be  free  from  strange  control, 

After  long  havoc  of  the  foreign  hordes, 
And  crowned  in  Rome,  at  her  own  joy  surprised, 
83 


after  TReafcfng  SorOello 


The  rival  states  informed  as  with  one  soul, 
A  nation  stands  girt  round  with  native  swords. 

No,  not  in  vain  !     For  still  the  human  heart 

Beats  the  same  measure  ;  old  and  new  are  one 
To  hope,  and  love,  and  right ;  they  have  no  part 

In  change  of  clime  or  process  of  the  sun  ; 
And  for  the  tears  in  other  ages  shed 

Our  tears  may  flow  ;  and  for  a  good  blow  dealt 
Ere  Christ  himself  was  born  our  pulses  leap. 
*T  is  poet's  praise,  though  of  forgot  or  dead 

He  gives  us  dreams,  we  wake  with  fervor  felt 
To  hope  and  hold  the  path  howe'er  so  steep. 


H 


IN  Sleepy  Town 
They  think  a  night-cap  worth  a  crown, 
And  there  the  law  commandeth  peace 
And  all  good  people  take  their  ease  : 
A  wise  old  owl,  big-eyed  and  brown, 
He  is  lord  mayor  of  Sleepy  Town. 

In  Sleepy  Town 
The  wheels  are  shod  with  eider-down, 

The  pavements  all  are  silk  and  wool  ; 

The  quiet  there  is  beautiful  : 
A  bumble-bee  in  gold-black  gown 
The  beadle  is  in  Sleepy  Town. 

In  Sleepy  Town 

Black  shadows  never  fall  or  frown, 
Nor  do  they  feel  the  sunshine's  glare  ; 
But  gentle  twilight  reigneth  there, 

85 


a  Zullabg 

While  poppy  scents  blow  up  and  down 
The  gardens  fair  in  Sleepy  Town. 

For  Sleepy  Town 

We  '11  mount  a  cloud  of  vapor  brown, 
We  '11  close  our  eyes  and  fold  our  hands 
And  call  a  wind  from  distant  lands  : 
O'er  valley's  rim  and  mountain's  crown 
We  '11  float  away  to  Sleepy  Town. 


86 


Despers. 

"T^HE  house  of  God  my  palace  is, 

*       Its  chancel  is  my  home  ; 
The  shadows  down  its  aisles  are  dear, 
The  sunshine  through  its  dome. 

On  altars  grand  the  tapers  glow 

'Mid  lilies  set  in  palms  ; 
The  organ  breathes  its  deep  refrain 

To  David's  wondrous  psalms. 

Yes,  raise  to  Him  His  noblest  songs, 

O  all  ye  choral  tones  ; 
Lift  up  to  Heaven  your  graven  heads, 

O  all  ye  sculptured  stones  ! 

Let  wax-lights  burn  and  roses  bloom, 
And  fume  of  incense  rise  ; 

Let  tinted  sunrays  gild  the  shrine, 
And  gleam  of  praying  eyes  ! 
87 


\0e0per8 

I  love  to  hymn  my  country's  praise  ; 

To  think  how  heroes  died  ; 
All  litanies  of  noble  deeds 

I  chant  with  joyous  pride  ; 

But  richer  far  the  solace  proves 

Of  sitting  at  Thy  feet ; 
Thy  tabernacles,  oh,  how  fair  ! 

Thine  adoration  sweet ! 


88 


TKHbat  Mas  /IDs  Bream  ? 

I  have  dreamed  a  dream,  and  my  spirit  was  troubled  to 
know  the  dream. — DANIEL,  ii.,  3. 

\  17  HAT  was  my  dream  ?     Though  consciousness 

be  clear, 

I  hold  no  memory  of  the  potent  thing, 
Yet  feel  the  force  of  it — a  creeping  fear, 
A  hope,  a  horror,  and  a  sense  austere 

Of  revelation,  stayed  at  thought's  extreme ; 
As  when  the  wind  is  passed,  the  pines  still  swing  ; 
Or  when  the  storm   has  blown,   the  waves  yet 

fling 
To  shore   the   battered   corpse   and    shattered 

beam  ; 

So  sways  my  troubled  mind.     What  was  my 
dream  ? 

What  was  my  dream?     A  heath,  starlit  and  wide, 
With  marching  giants  marshalled  to  and  fro 
89 


What  Tunas  /Rg  Dream  ? 


As  if  for  strife  ?     A  moonlit  river's  tide, 
Where  every  form  I  love  may  be  descried 
Afloat  and  past  all  effort  to  redeem  ? 
A  garden  rare,  with  Nature  all  aglow 
Among  her  fruits  and  flowers,  that  as  they  grow, 
Breathe  perfumed  melody,  full  glad  to  teem 
With    every    germ    of    life  ?     What    was    my 
dream  ? 

What  was  my  dream  ?     A  distant,  unknown  world 

That  elemental  ether  doth  immerse, 
With  matter  in  a  wild  disorder  hurled 
And  primal  forces  in  contention  whirled, 
A  senseless  demon  over  all  supreme, 
Who  seeks  with  apish  malice  to  reverse 
Creative  influences,  and  coerce 

A  universe  to  death,  and  bring  its  scheme 
To    chaos    whence    it    came  ?    What  was   my 
dream  ? 

What  was  my  dream  ?     Some  Indian  sage's  scroll 
May  keep  for  me,  perchance,  a  glimpse  or  glint ; 
Some  Hebrew  prophet's  vision  may  unroll 
Its  veils  and  show  this  secret  of  the  soul  ; 
90 


Tfdbat  THUas  dBt>  Dream  ? 


At  times,  among  the  murmurs  of  a  stream, 
I  catch  the  far,  faint  echo  of  a  hint, — 
Or  seem  to  feel  in  some  suggestive  tint, 
Where  golden  glories  of  the  sunset  gleam, 
A  presence  unrevealed.     What  was  my  dream  ? 

What  was  my  dream  ?     A  silver  trumpet  blown 

Thrills  with  a  touch  of  the  strong  mystery  ; 
The  buds  of  spring,  the  leaves  of  autumn  strown, 
The  tempest's  flashing  blade  and  braggart  tone 

Remind  me  of  the  unremembered  theme. 
Where  billows  curve  along  the  shining  sea, 
It  breaks  through  lucent  green  in  foamy  glee, 
And  hides  uncaught ;  not  seldom  do  I  deem 
Love's    sigh    its    harbinger.      What    was    my 
dream  ? 


Tflnconqueret). 

ON  a  bed  of  pansies  a  shield  was  tossed  ; 
There  were  careless  spears  through  the  roses 

crossed ; 

A  sword  from  an  orange  branch  was  swung, 
And  beside  the  acacia  a  matchlock  flung  ; 
On  an  almond  bush  did  a  saddle  sway, 
While  a  tent-pole  broke  the  mimosa's  spray  ; 
And  the  scented  grasses  and  flowers  in  bloom 
Were  trampled  into  a  strange  perfume. 
In  shadow  of  tree  and  arbor's  shade 
Sunburnt  soldiers  asleep  were  laid  ; 
At  the  edge  of  the  lake  the  war  horse  drank, 
Or  laved  in  the  tide  his  heated  flank, 
While  the  camels,  where  lily  and  lotos  blow 
Waded  and  caught  at  their  floating  snow. 
You  might  hear  on  the  terrace  the  sentinel's  tramp  ; 
The  wood  was  heaped  for  the  watchfire's  lamp  ; 
The  palace  garden  was  turned  a  camp. 
92 


1Hnconquere& 


Within  the  palace  the  victor  Khan 

Strode  to  and  fro,  an  exultant  man. 

Glad  had  he  been  for  the  labor  done, 

Glad  at  the  thought  of  the  glory  won, 

And  glad  in  the  hope  of  a  viceroy's  crown, 

For  a  realm  restored  and  a  feud  put  down  ; 

But  the  visions  of  gold,  and  fame,  and  power 

That  thronged  his  mind  for  a  busy  hour, 

Like  a  civic  rout  that  precedes  and  greets 

Some  potent  prince  in  a  city's  streets, 

Had  but  ushered  in  and  left  his  soul 

To  one  passionate  thought's  supreme  control : 

The  rebel's  wife  was  among  the  spoils, 

The  woman  he  loved  was  in  his  toils  ! 

And  though  rich  Mandu  on  its  table  land — 

In  a  sea  of  green  gardens  a  marble  strand, 

Whose  cliffs  were  the  turret  and  parapet, 

The  temple  dome  and  the  minaret — 

Seemed  a  noble  prize,  't  was  a  thing  disdained, 

Compared  to  the  captive  who  now  remained 

Dishevelled,  and  wan,  and  tear-bestained, 

A  slave  in  the  palace  where  once  she  reigned. 

Within  the  zenana,  the  joyous  song, 
The  rippling  laugh  of  the  gossiping  throng, 
93 


TBnconquereO 


And  the  merry  calling  from  room  to  room 

Were  hushed  ;  for  the  women  abode  their  doom. 

They  glided  like  ghosts  through  the  curtained  doors, 

Their  feet  fell  noiseless  on  rug-clad  floors, 

They  met  to  whisper  what  each  divines, 

Or  passed  unheeding,  on  vague  designs. 

On  the  mirror  yesterday's  dust  was  spread, 

And  yesterday's  rose  in  its  vase  lay  dead, 

The  censer  with  yesterday's  ashes  filled 

On  a  Cashmere  veil  was  unnoticed  spilled, 

And,  caught  in  the  hookah's  jewelled  globe, 

Lay  tangled  a  rich  Benares  robe. 

On  the  floor  of  her  favorite  chamber  thrown, 

The  mistress  of  all  met  her  grief  alone. 

She  lay,  half  hid  in  her  flowing  hair, 

Like  a  corpse,  forgot  in  the  cushions  there. 

She  was  fair  ;  not  fairer  the  girl  whose  smile 
Won  lordship  o'er  Egypt  and  sacred  Nile, 
When  she  slid  unadorned  from  the  merchandise 
To  encounter  the  glance  of  Caesar's  eyes. 
She  was  wise  ;  not  wiser  the  prophetess 
Whom  excess  of  knowledge  did  curse  not  bless, 
When  she  wandered  on  Ida  and  saw  in  trance 
The  phantom  galleys  of  Greece  advance. 
94 


"dnconqucred 


In  all  the  lands  of  the  Ganges'  course 
Between  torrid  ocean  and  glacier  source, 
Men  whispered  the  tale  of  her  beauty  and  grace 
And  had  waking  dreams  of  her  wondrous  face  ; 
In  the  bustle  of  camps,  in  the  prison's  gloom, 
At  the  lover's  tryst,  at  the  hero's  tomb, 
In  the  pomp  of  courts,  and  where  rustic  glee 
Laughs  under  the  shade  of  the  village  tree, 
They  sang  her  songs  wherein  each  one  found 
The  food  of  a  passion  or  balm  of  a  wound. 

Like  a  child  in  its  play  the  fountain  plashed, 
The  garden  wind  came  in  unabashed 
And  caught  at  her  vesture  with  joyous  clasp 
And  knotted  her  hair  in  its  soft  bold  grasp  ; 
But  she  lay  unnoting,  and  waited  still 
For  the  last  decree  of  the  conqueror's  will. 

She  had  offered  for  ransom  wealth  untold 
In  hidden  jewels  and  hoarded  gold. 
"  I  am  master  of  all  save  the  arching  sky  ; 
Mine  own,"  he  said,  "it  were  folly  to  buy." 
For  a  generous  mercy  then  she  sued 
And  pledged  him  a  generous  gratitude. 
95 


"dnconquereD 


"  Mere  pity  were  scanty  grace,"  he  said  ; 

"  I  will  grant  her  the  boon  of  love  instead." 

For  freedom  to  follow  her  lord  she  prayed, 

Though  she  went  in  a  beggar's  rags  arrayed. 

"  It  were  wiser,"  retorted  her  captor  grim, 

"  To  be  merry  with  me  than  go  weep  with  him." 

She  asked  for  her  purity  reverence, 

And  pleaded  her  love  in  her  own  defence, 

She  invoked  man's  honor,  and  woman's  faith, 

The  scorn  of  time,  and  eternal  wrath  ; 

Whatever  the  noble  of  heart  revere, 

Whatever  the  tender  of  heart  hold  dear, 

Whatever  the  evil  of  heart  may  fear. 

"  Go,  tell  her,"  he  said,  in  fierce  disdain, 

"  That  these  girlish  tears  are  untimely  rain. 

Let  her  fling  away  sorrow  and  spread  a  feast 

When  moonrise  illumines  the  hills  in  the  east. 

I  have  dreamed  of  the  welcome  wherewith  he  is 

blest 

That  comes  to  the  home  of  a  houri  as  guest, 
And  is  mekat  the  portal  with  smiling  eyes, 
Whose  glance  is  an  earnest  of  paradise  : 
If  the  lover  may  not  such  a  greeting  crave, 
The  master  will  visit  his  stubborn  slave." 

96 


THnconquere& 


She  rose  when  the  evil  message  came, 
Her  pale  face  flushed  with  a  noble  shame, 
And  her  dark  eyes  lit  with  a  scornful  flame. 
She  flung  off  her  weary  and  listless  air, 
She  threw  back  the  silk  of  her  tangled  hair, 
The  coward  Hope  seemed  no  longer  fair, 
And  she  smiled  a  welcome  on  bold  Despair  ! 

"  Bear  back  this  greeting  to  Adham  Khan," 
It  was  thus  her  answering  message  ran, 
' '  When  the  moon  swings  clear  of  the  eastern  hill, 
A  submissive  captive  shall  wait  his  will." 

She  clapped  her  hands  ;  the  imperative  sound 
Brought  her  eager  slaves  in  a  throng  around. 
"  Come,  trim  these  chambers  in  festival  guise, 
Away  with  misgivings  and  tears  and  sighs. 
A  conqueror  looks  for  joy,  not  dole  ; 
Be  bright  and  fair  :  it  is  woman's  role. 
My  beauty  shall  shine  at  its  best  to-night, 
If  never  again  to  yield  man  delight." 
They  made  her  aglow  with  baths  of  milk, 
They  girt  her  about  with  the  softest  silk, 
And  they  flung  rich  vesture  in  many  a  fold 
97 


TUnconquercD 


Of  snowy  whiteness  just  edged  with  gold 

O'er  her  sloping  shoulders  and  made  a  nest 

For   the   doves,    that   were    twins,   of    her  gentle 

breast. 

The  sea  of  her  hair  with  its  waves  of  jet 
They  gathered  as  into  the  folds  of  a  net ; 
In  the  dusky  currents,  like  stars  in  a  stream 
Did  emeralds  shimmer  and  diamonds  gleam. 
And  all  that  the  odorous  East  finds  sweet, 
From  the  lily  water  that  wet  her  feet 
To  the  henna  that  stained  her  finger  tips, 
And  the  salve  of  roses  that  touched  her  lips, 
She  breathed  ;  and  each  motion  sent  sweet  perfumes 
Through  the  languid  air  of  the  lofty  rooms, 
Where  the  damsels  had  set  among  palm-tree  glooms 
The  sheen  of  lotos  and  lily  blooms. 

She  looked  in  the  mirror  with  mocking  stare, 
And  laughed  at  the  loveliness  imaged  there. 
A  strange  white  statue  of  grace  divine, 
Seemed  animate  with  a  power  malign. 
She  glanced  in  scorn  at  the  banquet  spread, 
"  You  forget  the  forbidden  wine,"  she  said, 
And  passed  unheeding  the  dainty  meats, 
98 


The  tropic  fruitage,  the  quaint  conceits 

In  cake  and  confect,  and  sirup  and  ice, 

And  tinted  jellies  of  rare  device 

In  glitter  of  crystal  and  gold  displayed — 

You  could  not  choose  between  sheath  and  blade. 

She  moved  to  the  casement  and  turned  her  eye 

With  a  lingering  look  and  a  soft  low  sigh, 

To  the  gleam  at  the  edge  of  the  eastern  sky  : 

"  Oh,  woman,"  she  murmured,  "  is  faint  and  frail, 

And  shifts  to  the  wind  like  a  galley's  sail. 

She  can  cleave  no  path  to  a  goal  in  view, 

And  her  foot  is  false  when  her  heart  is  true. 

She  has  no  weapon  but  beauty's  lure, 

And,  temptress  ever,  can  she  keep  pure  ? 

Climb  slowly  the  mountain,  O  silver  moon, 

I  would  thou  wert  weighted  with  leaden  shoon  ! 

"  Is  a  woman  happy  ?     Behold  her  lord 
Is  cunning  in  barter  or  skilled  with  the  sword. 
Should  he  fail  in  a  contest  to  hold  his  own, 
She  goes  down  like  a  vine  round  a  tree  overthrown. 
Self-centered,  substantial,  she  was  not  made, 
But  the  shadow  of  man,  himself  a  shade. 
9Q 


THnconquereft 


Climb  slowly  the  mountain,  O  silver  moon, 
I  would  the  pines  might  thy  course  oppugn  ! 

"  This  world  is  man's  ;  in  the  world  to  come 
It  is  said  few  women  may  find  a  home. 
I  bless  the  gods  for  the  strange  decree 
That  sets  us  in  death's  oblivion  free, 
And  creates  for  our  masters  new  sources  of  joys 
In  a  womanless  world  and  with  other  toys. 
Climb  slowly  the  mountain,  O  silver  moon, 
For  unending  gloom  were  a  better  boon  ! " 

There  was  hung  at  her  bracelet  a  tiny  flask, 
In  whose  glow  did  a  cold  white  liquid  bask  ; 
She  arched  her  arms  o'er  her  mournful  face 
And  dangled  the  toy  in  its  happy  place. 
"  O  font  of  delicious  balm,"  she  said, 
"  For  heart  that  suffers  and  aching  head  ! 
O  remedy  rare  of  sad  life's  disease, 
Elixir  that  brings  an  eternal  peace, 
And  solvent  strong  of  all  mysteries  !  " 
She  set  its  lips  to  her  lips  and  quaffed 
The  flask's  contents  at  a  single  draught. 
She  turned  away  with  a  languid  pace, 
too 


IHnconquered 


She  sank  in  the  cushions  with  careless  grace 
And  drew  her  mantle  across  her  face. 
"  Let  him  come,"  she  sighed,  "if  to  come  he  list 
He  will  find  me  faithful  and  biding  tryst." 

But  Adham  Khan  from  a  balcony 

Watched  the  twilight  falling  o'er  wood  and  lea  ; 

The  laugh  of  his  soldiers  resounded  clear, 

A  nightingale  sang  in  a  rose-tree  near, 

And  the  earth's  repose  seemed  full  pure  and  calm, 

With  the  dew  like  incense,  the  winds  like  balm  : 

"  The  quarry,"  he  muttered,  "has  led  the  chase 

For  many  a  mile  at  a  gallant  pace  ; 

She  has  dodged  and  doubled  with  cunning  wile, 

Over  stream,  and  plain,  and  through  rough  defile, 

And  turned  at  last — it  is  woman's  way — 

With  pretty  courage  to  stand  at  bay. 

Climb  swiftly  the  mountain,  O  silver  moon, 

I  would  thou  wert  shod  with  winged  shoon  ! 

' '  Ah,  strange  pursuit  where  the  hunter  gains 
Not  seldom  the  prize  of  a  captive's  chains  ; 
Where  the  quarry  is  fleeing  from  love,  not  hate, 
And  may  dread  escape  as  an  evil  fate  ; 
101 


TUnconquereD 


Where  the  end  of  the  chase,  though  fierce  its  stress, 
Is  not  death,  nor  disaster,  but  happiness. 
Climb  swiftly  the  mountain,  O  silver  moon 
For  thy  light  to-night  is  a  priceless  boon  ! 

"  The  dull  delights  of  the  world  to  be 
I  dread,  so  fair  is  this  world  to  me  ; 
The  immortal  damsels  that  come  unsought 
May  lack  the  charm  of  a  woman  caught, 
That  resisting  ever  is  ever  bent, 
And  is  happy,  yielding — o'ercome,  content. 
Swing  clear  in  the  azure,  O  silver  moon, 
But  bend  to  the  westward  not  oversoon  ! " 

He  turned  ;  through  the  arch  of  the  marble  hall 
Rang  the  sullen  clang  of  his  armed  footfall. 
At  the  sound  of  his  quick,  imperious  stride, 
The  zenana  portals  swung  open  wide  ; 
And  he  crossed  the  threshold  and  stood  among 
The  obsequious  slaves  in  his  pathway  flung. 
A  gracious  sign  gave  them  leave  to  rise, 
While  a  question  gleamed  in  his  eager  eyes  ; 
"  She  is  sleeping,"  they  said,  and  pointed  on 
To  an  inner  doorway  with  curtains  drawn. 
102 


THnconquer.e& 


They  watched  as  he  went,  and  some  sighed  low  : 

"  Ah,  heartless  woman,  to  slumber  so  !  " 

Some  whispered  :     "  The  fate  of  all  may  lie 

In  the  curve  of  her  lip,  or  the  glance  of  her  eye." 

And  others  sneered  :     ' '  She  has  learned  the  way 

To  bind  the  captor  and  still  hold  sway." 

There  is  silence  sweeter  than  songs  of  birds, 

There  may  be  welcome  that  needs  no  words. 

The  hope  of  it  soothed  him  with  subtle  joy 

And  touched  the  rough  soldier  to  lovesick  boy  ; 

The  lamps  that  were  burning  with  strong  perfume 

Revealed  glitter  of  feast  and  garlands'  bloom, 

And  the  form  of  stature  and  curve  divine 

That  lay  in  the  cushions  and  gave  no  sign. 

The  air  of  the  place  made  his  senses  swoon  ; 

It  was  rich  and  still  as  a  woods  in  June. 

"  She  has  smoothed  our  meeting  with  happy  wile," 

He  thought,  and  advanced  with  a  mocking  smile  ; 

But  she  lay  so  quiet  and  seemed  so  chill, 

He  felt  the  heart  in  his  bosom  thrill. 

He  bent  above  her,  where,  palm  in  palm, 

Her  hands  were  crossed  in  a  child-like  calm. 

He  drew  back  the  mantle  ;  the  lamp's  quick  glare 

Lights  her  pallid  beauty  with  ghostly  flare  : 

103 


THnconquerefc 


Like  snow  is  the  touch  of  her  finger  tips, 
The  smile  is  set  round  her  arching  lips, 
Through  their  coral  portals  no  murmur  trips, 
No  glance  from  under  her  eyelid  slips, 
The  wave  of  her  bosom  nor  heaves  nor  dips — 
She  lies  in  the  shadow  of  death's  eclipse. 

It  is  good  to  think  as  we  watch  him  there 
O'er  the  corpse  of  a  victim  so  pure  and  fair, 
That  a  term  is  set  to  his  pride  and  power  ; 
That  his  master's  patience  ebbs  hour  by  hour ; 
That  a  day  will  come  when  his  insolence 
Will  hurry  him  into  a  last  offense — 
When  Akbar,  weary  of  fond  reproof, 
Will  have  him  hurled  from  the  palace  roof, 
To  be  crushed,  with  mangled  body  and  bones, 
A  distorted  mass  on  the  courtyard  stones  ! 


104 


Wine  Sons. 

"I  T  7E  lay  beside  the  stream  to  rest, 

*  *        And  in  a  shady  pool, 
Between  two  rippling  rifts,  we  set 
A  flask  of  wine  to  cool. 

It  was  a  sweet  October  day, 

With  all  the  woods  aglow  ; 
We  talked,  we  dreamed,  and  heard  the  while 

The  sparkling  water  flow,  — 

Then  thought  upon  the  flask  that  held 

The  nectar  of  the  vine, 
And  turned  ;  and  lo  !  the  flask  was  gone — 

The  water  stole  the  wine  ! 

"Ah,  greedy,  thievish  stream,"  we  cried, 

And  chased  it  as  it  ran, 
"  It  is  not  fit  that  thirsty  brook 

Should  plunder  thirsty  man  ! " 
105 


IQine  Song 


The  tipsy  current,  here  and  there, 
We  watched  it  glide  and  glance  ; 

We  heard  the  knavish  ripples  laugh, 
And  saw  gay  bubbles  dance. 

Round  every  jolly  bend  we  went 
The  tippling  streamlet  made, 

And  looked  in  every  boosy  pool 
And  every  lush  cascade. 

And  there,  at  last,  behold  the  flask 

With  all  its  treasure  shine  ! 
A  drunken  eddy  clasps  it  close, 

And  waltzes  with  the  wine  ! 

O  nurse  of  dreams  and  balm  of  pain  ! 

O  source  of  joy  and  song  ! 
O  lamp  of  hope  and  memory's  veil ! 

O  strength  of  weak  and  strong  ! 

No  wonder  that  the  poets  trace 

Thy  birth  to  source  divine, 
When  crystal  streams,  themselves  athirst, 

Would  steal  the  amber  wine  ! 
106 


Ube  poet's  3Bar(jain. 

(After  Pierre  Cardinal.) 

FROM  East  to  West  I  '11  make  a  covenant 
With  all  the  world,  and  keep  it  without  fail ; 
I  '11  give  each  loyal  man  a  gold  bezant, 
If  each  disloyal  one  give  me  a  nail ; 
The  courteous  with  a  mark  of  gold  I  '11  fee, 
If  every  boor  a  penny  grant  to  me  ; 
Truth-tellers  shall  have  heaps  of  coin  ;  I  beg 
From  every  liar,  in  return,  an  egg. 

The  laws  that  are  obeyed,  I  '11  write  them  all 

Along  the  little  finger  of  my  glove  ; 

If  I  should  bid  the  brave  to  banquet  hall, 

I  would  regale  them  on  a  turtle  dove, 

For  scanty  fare  befits  not  noble  guest  ; 

Compelled  to  serve  the  wicked  with  a  feast, 

I  should  fling  wide  the  doors  of  everywhere, 

And  cry  :  "  Good  people  all,  come  forth  and  share  !" 


107 


t>fs  Bream. 

T^HE  Devil  lay  in  wildest,  deepest  hell, 
1     In  sleep  enshrouded  by  a  God-sent  spell  : 
He  lay  in  slumber's  deep  repose  profound, 
Nor  heard  the  yells  of  torment  echoing  round, 
Nor  felt  the  living,  heaving  sea  of  fire, 
Whose  tides  forever  flow  and  ne'er  retire. 
Forgetful  of  the  gulfs  of  woe  that  boil, 
The  hot,   bright  flames  that  scorch   and  hiss  and 

coil, 

The  cliffs  of  torment  and  the  deep,  dark  caves 
Where  pain  laments  and  horror  ever  raves  ; 
Forgetful  of  his  kingdoms  damned,  infernal, 
The  doleful  realm  of  woes  and  wails  eternal  ; 
Forgetful  of  hell's  adamantine  walls, 
He  dreamed  of  heaven's  star-gemmed,  blue-domed 
halls. 


108 


Ube  flDasfe  ot  tbe  Worlfc. 

1KNOW  both  the  masks  and  the  faces  of  all 
That  appear  at  this  bustling  carnival  ball  : 
Here  an  ale-wife  struts  in  the  robes  of  a  queen, 
There  's  a  vestal,  with  only  her  garments  clean  ; 
That  man  in  the  beard,  who  is  prating  of  art, 
Was  meant  for  the  seat  of  a  butcher's  cart ; 
Yon  soldier's  service  might  not  be  spurned, 
Were  his  sword  to  a  thousand  needles  turned  ; 
And  this  preacher  here,  would  have  been  at  home 
With  Bourbon's  Black  Bands  in  the  sack  of  Rome  ; 
What  motley  disguises  the  knaves  have  assumed, 
From  the  gipsy  in  rags  to  the  emperor  plumed, 
And  though  each  knows  himself  for  a  rogue  and  a 

cheat, 

How  simply  he  credits  his  neighbor's  deceit ! 
And  so  evermore  they  may  merrily  waltz, 
While  they  feign  the  untrue  and  believe  in  the  false. 
I  would  I  might  wait  till  the  trumpet  is  blown, 
For   the   masks   to   be   doffed   and  the   true   faces 
shown. 


109 


TKIlatei>XUies. 

ALONG  the  stream  there  seemed  to  reign 
The  bliss  of  languid  quiet ; 
In  wood  and  field,  through  flower  and  grain, 
A  summer  joy  ran  riot. 

We  reached  a  cove  with  marshy  bed 

Begirt  with  margin  hilly. 
"  Oh,  turn  your  boat  aside,"  she  said, 

"  I  "ve  not  yet  found  a  lily." 

Among  the  rushes  and  the  reeds 

Wound  many  a  channel  mazy  ; 
I  dipped  my  oars  through  floating  weeds 

With  movement  slow  and  lazy. 

Around  a  dead  tree  in  the  marsh 

A  flock  of  blackbirds  fluttered, 
And  close  beside  us,  croaking  harsh, 

A  mud-hen  splashed  and  muttered. 
no 


A  crow  flew  by  from  wood  to  wood, 

Bird-sexton,  grimly  jolly ; 
A  heron  in  the  rushes  stood 

In  silent  melancholy. 

The  way  grew  clear  as  on  we  went, 

Until  at  last  we  noted 
Where  on  its  raft-like  leaves  low  bent, 

A  water-lily  floated. 

The  chalice  of  the  flower  looked  old, 
And  frayed  the  edge  that  bound  it  ; 

And  what  they  call  its  heart  of  gold 
Had  twenty  bugs  around  it, — 

While  here  and  there  in  ordered  ranks, 
Like  troops  of  gallant  riders, 

Leaving  the  isle-like  leaf's  green  banks, 
Sped  off  the  water  spiders. 

And  yet  my  love  reached  to  the  stem 

With  full  as  glad  a  motion 
As  if  to  grasp  the  rarest  gem 

Hid  in  the  caves  of  ocean  ; 
in 


TdatersXtlies 


Her  hand  an  unstained  lily  shone 
Within  the  clear  dark  water, 

Then  waved  aloft  before  the  sun 
The  lily  stained  it  brought  her. 

To  see  that  child  of  swampy  slime 
Caught  with  such  exultation, 

A  hope  hid  in  my  soul  long  time 
Found  sudden  revelation. 

What  did  I  proffer  ?    Was 't  a  heart, 
A  trifle  frayed  with  passion, 

That  from  the  stream  of  life  apart 
Swayed  in  a  listless  fashion  ? 

I  may  not  tell.  And  as  her  face 
Burned  in  a  flame  of  blushes 

What  said  she,  with  a  bashful  grace 
Slow  whispering  to  the  rushes  ? 

I  may  not  tell.     Yet  you  shall  know 

The  lesson  of  the  matter 
That  fair  day  murmured,  soft  and  low, 

Unto  the  reeds  and  water  : — 
112 


Stains  may  seem  pure — ATOSS,  treasure  trove — 

And  folly's  self  not  silly — 
To  woman  when  she  meets  with  love 

Or  goes  to  seek  a  lily. 
8 


Bringing  tbe  jffre  from  2>elpbf. 

nPOUCH  joyously,  O  lingering  morn,  Cithseron's 
lofty  crown, 

For  seldom  on  a  nobler  sight  has  light  of  morn 
looked  down  ! 

This  day,  about  the  mountain's  knee,  behold,  con- 
federate Greece 

Aglow  with  triumph  comes  to  celebrate  her  hard- 
won  peace  ; 

And  though  the  peoples  be  sore  spent,  their  towns 
in  ruins  laid, 

The  land  once  more  is  free,  the  tide  of  Persian  con- 
quest stayed. 

In  that  long,   doubtful  struggle  of    the  East    and 
West,  again 

Dear  Europe  wins,  and  Art  is  safe  ;  unbound  the 
tongue  and  pen  ; 

By  Salamis,  Thermopylae,  and  the  Plataean  field 

Once  more  the  Asian  spear  is  broke,  and  pierced 
the  Asian  shield  ! 

114 


Bringing  tbc  afire  from  Belpbi 


This  day  the  trumpet  sounds  a    charge  ;    in  long 

procession  slow 
The  people  waving  myrtles  and  the  laurelled  chariots 

go; 
This  day  to  the  heroic  dead  fit   monuments   they 

raise, 

And  on  Plataea's  field  itself  proclaim  their  cham- 
pions' praise  ; 
This  day  they  shed  the  bullock's  blood  and  pour 

the  purple  wine, 
And  splash  the  tombs  with  water  and  with  essences 

divine. 

This  day,  so  saith  the  oracle  in  dread  Apollo's  name, 
They  shall  re-light  each  household  blaze  and  every 

altar  flame 
With  sacred  fire  from  Delphi's  shrine — to  cleanse 

from  fancied  stain 
The  land  where  foreign  hordes  had  camped  and  left 

their  bodies  slain. 

"  Stand  forth,  young  Euchidas,  whose  task  it  is  ere 

day  expire 
To  run  to  Delphi's  temple  and    bring    back  the 

sacred  fire  !  " 


Bringing  tbe  jfire  from  IDelpbi 


So  proud  Pausanias  spoke  ;  and  at  his  word,  from 

out  the  throng, 
The  fair  pentathlete  stepped  and  faced  the  autumn 

sunshine  strong. 
Half-naked  for  the  fearful  course  he  stood  and  bent 

his  face  ; 
In  every  curve   of  body    power,  in  every   gesture 

grace  ; 
Round-limbed,   light-flanked,   full-shouldered,  tall, 

with  skin  so  smooth  and  clear 
The  rippling  muscles  sliding  to  and  fro  beneath, 

appear,— 
And  yet  no  yielding    softness  there,   for  all   their 

flowing  lines, 

But  tendons  tough  as  silken  cords  and  hard  as  knot- 
ted vines. 
And  on  the  perfect  body  throned  a  perfect  head  was 

set, 
With  glowing  eyes  and  arching  lips  and  hair  in  curls 

of  jet. 
At  every  movement,  poised  for  flight,  yet  planted 

firm,  he  seemed — 
As  grand  a  thing  in  flesh  and  blood  as  ever  sculptor 

dreamed. 


116 


Bringing  tbe  ffire  from  Belpbi 


The  message  for  the  Delphic  priests  he  took,  and, 

turning  round, 
He  dashed  amid  the  cheering  crowd  and  down  the 

sloping  ground  ; — 
No  sudden  burst  of  speed,  that  in  a  moment  tires 

and  faints, 
No  loitering  lope  of  one  who  stays  or  strives  without 

restraints, 
Ah,  no  !  for  he  by  plain  and  stream  and  mountain 

path  must  run 
A  thousand  furlongs'  course  before  the  setting  of 

the  sun  ! 
With  easy,  even  stride,  and  moving  from  the  hips, 

he  goes, 
So   light,    so   graceful    that   his    action   might    be 

deemed  repose  ; 
Yet  fierce  it  was  and  fast,  for  effort,  energy,  and 

will 
In  tumult  waste,  and  working  at  their  best  seem 

often  still. 
Behind,  Cithaeron's  gloomy  ridge  ;  northeast,   Eu- 

boea's  heights  ; 
And  north,  the  great  Boeotian  plain  in  shifting  shades 

and  lights  ; 


117 


tbe  fffre  from  Delpbi 


Northwestward,  Helicon's  far-rolling  slopes  ;  then, 

white  and  fair, 
Parnassus,  crowned  with  snow  and  soaring  through 

the  morning  air ! 

On  that  white  giant  of  the  Phocian  hills  he  fixed  his 

eyes, 
For  sheltered  in  the  mountain's  lap  the  sacred  city 

lies. 
Asopus'  sedgy  tide  he  passed,  where  camped  the 

Persians  lay, 
And  on  through  Leuctra,  yet  unstained  with  blood, 

he  took  his  way  ; 
Along  the  rolling  hills  he  strained  past  plundered 

Thespise's  vale, 
Where  love  is  lord,  and  beauty  power,  by  every  hill 

and  dale  ; 

The  sunny  slopes  of  Helicon  he  skirted  as  he  strode, 
The  nurse  of  fountains  and  of  flowers,  the  muses' 

fair  abode, 
Where  "neath  the  winged  horse's  hoofs  bright  Hip- 

pocrene  gushed, 
Where  Aganippe's  potent  wave  the  poet's  genius 

flushed. 


118 


JSrfnging  tbe  fffre  from  Delpbf 


And  as  he  runs  he  smiles  : — "  They'll  think  of  him 

in  other  days — 
Each  Grecian  girl  that  sits  and  dreams  beside  her 

household  blaze ! " 

Almost  at  every  mile  along  the  mountain  at  his  left, 
Some  sparkling  torrent  at  his  feet  springs  down  a 

rocky  cleft  ; 
And  to  the  right  the  great  Copaic  plain  extends 

afar, — 
"Mars'  exercising    ground"   't  was    called,  so  oft 

't  was  trod  in  war  ; 
And  every  bordering  city  then  had  been  or  was  to 

be 

A  battlefield — and  live  forever  in  man's  memory. 
With  steady  pace  the  runner  goes  ;  the  distant  lake 

looks  blue  ; 
The  slow  sun  mounts  ;  and  in  his  light  Cithaeron 

changes  hue. 
But  ever  where  the  vision  breaks  through  Helicon's 

defiles, 
Parnassus,  like  an  altar,  seems  to  close  the  valleyed 

aisles. 
At  last,  around  a  mountain  spur  the  pathway  turns  ; 

and  there 

119 


Bringing  tbe  Jfire  from  Dclpbi 


Fair  Lebadea,  in  its  gorge  lies  crouched,  as  in  a 

lair ; 
The  clear,  bright  river  rushing  down  from  where 

the  pilgrims  quaffed 
The  mystic  founts,  remembering  and  forgetting  at  a 

draught. 

Here,  Euchidas,  bend  to  your  task  ;  you  may  not 

slacken  stride, 
Though  through  the  foot-hills  wheels  the  path  and 

round  Parnassus'  side  ; 
A  mountain  road  for  many  a  mile,  by  beetling  cliffs 

it  creeps, 
Through  passes  grim,  down  shuddering  gulfs,  and 

up  the  rocky  steeps. 
The  runner's  breath  comes  hard,  his  lips  are  set, 

and  flushed  his  face, 
But  still  he  will  not  yield,  and  holds  his  even,  rapid 

pace. 
He  counts  the  throbbing  of  his  heart,  the  fleeting 

miles  he  notes, 
He  watches  for  the  sudden    gusts    from    out  the 

gorges'  throats. 
The  glories  of  the  wondrous  way  he  may  not  pause 

to  heed  ; 

120 


tbe  ffire  from  Delpbi 


No  luring  prospect    tempts   to  rest ;    no    greeting 

stays  his  speed  ; 
For  what  to  him  are  terraced  vines,  or  fount,  or 

rock-hewn  tomb, 
Or  hills  with  sunshine  tipped,  or  valleys  swathed  in 

cloudy  gloom  ? 
What  matters  if  'twas  in  this  Cloven  Way,  full  long 

ago, 
That  he  who  guessed  the  Sphinx's  riddle  struck  the 

fated  blow 
And  slew  his  sire,  unknowing  and  unknown  ?     He 

may  not  care 
How  here  the   Heliconian    ridges  sweep  back  far 

and  fair  ; 
That  there  a  narrow   vista   opening   eastward   lets 

appear, 
As  in  a  picture  framed,  Eubcea's  straits,  soft,  blue, 

and  clear  ; 

That  yonder  the  Corinthian  gulf  in  southern  sun- 
shine lies, 
And   far   beyond   Arcadia's   peaks  blend  with  the 

southern  skies. 

But  as  he  runs  he  smiles  :     "  They  '11  think  of  him 
in  other  days — 

121 


Bringing  tbe  tf  ire  trom  Delpbi 


Each  priest  that  lights  an  altar  flame  and  lifts  his 
voice  in  praise  ! " 

"T  was  almost  noon,  as  round  a  cliff  the  runner 
sharply  wheeled, 

And  saw  below  him  in  its  vale  rich  Delphi  lie  re- 
vealed. 

Above,  the  grim  Phaedriades,  sheer  steeps  of  shining 

gray, 
Where  through   a  narrow  cleft  Castalia's  fountain 

makes  its  way ; 
Beyond,  the  ridge  of  Kirphis  looms  ;  far  down,  the 

Pleistus  flows  ; 
While  like  an  amphitheatre,  built  steeply  rows  on 

rows, 

In  curving  marble  terraces,  the  sacred  city  springs, 
Where  long  ago  the  Python  coiled  his  body's  bur- 
nished rings. 
His  slayer's  temple  stands  above  the  secret,  rocky 

chasm, 
Whose  fumes  the  priestess  breathes  and  yields  to  the 

prophetic  spasm, — 
The  centre  of  the  world  where  once,  in  flight  from 

east  and  west, 

122 


JBrfngfng  tbe  ffire  from  Delpbf 


Great  Zeus's  eagles  clashed  their  measuring  wings 

and  came  to  rest  ; 
The  gorgeous  treasure-house  of  Greece,  religion's 

home  and  throne, 
From  which  to  nations  as  to  men  she  speaks  in 

mystic  tone. 

The  runner  downward  to  the  temple  sped,  his  mes- 
sage gave — 

Just  stayed,  within  Cassotis'  fount  his  wearied 
limbs  to  lave, 

Just  tasted  bread  and  wine,  and  then,  with  laurel 
round  his  head, 

Stepped  reverent  to  the  altar  where  the  holy  flame 
is  fed. 

They  gave  him  of  the  sacred  fire  within  a  brazen  urn, — 

If  motion  keep  its  flame  aglow  it  will  not  cease  to 
burn  ! 

As  from  the  temple  porch  he  sprang  upon  the  up- 
ward track, 

The  myriad  statues  by  the  way  seemed  dancing 
swiftly  back  ; 

Along  Parnassus'  side  he  speeds  before  the  mountain 
wind, 


123 


JSrfngfng  tbe  tftre  from  Detpbi 


And  though  the  sun  be  bending  west,  the  path  drops 
fast  behind. 

Not  yet  mid-afternoon  it   is,  as  lightly  he  descends 

Fair  Lebadea's  gloomy  vale  to  where  the  plain  ex- 
tends ; 

Parnassus  falls  away  behind,  and  to  the  right  he 
wheels 

Along  the  land  of  stupid  men,  the  lake  of  luscious 
eels  ; 

He  skirts  the  ridge  of  Helicon,  and  ever  dreads  the 
night 

Within  its  shades,  though,  rising  far,  Cithseron  shines 
in  light. 

He  mends  his  pace,  forsaking  not  his  steady,  swing- 
ing stride  ; 

He  will  not  fail  to  keep  his  tryst,  whatever  may 
betide  ! 

No  muscle  fails,  no  limb  grows  faint  beneath  the 
weary  strain  ; 

But  fiercer  beats  the  laboring  heart,  and  fiercer 
whirls  the  brain. 

Stout  workman,  drive  the  crimson  floods  fast  through 
your  pulsing  gates  ! 

Calm  ruler,  one  false  touch  of  nerve, — in  vain  Pla- 

taea  waits  ! 

124 


^Bringing  tbe  ffire  from  Delpbt 


Yet  as  he  runs  he  smiles  :     "  They  '11  think  of  him 

in  other  days — 
Each  bard  that  seeks  for  noble  themes  and  loves 

heroic  lays  !  " 

But  once  the  runner  swerved,  and  felt  his  eye  grow 

strangely  dim, 
And   paused   and   flung    himself    beside   a   crystal 

streamlef  s  rim  : — 
And,  on  a  sudden,  serpents  seemed  to  writhe  about 

the  brink, 
And  hiss,  and  lash  to  blood  the  water,  as  he  bent  to 

drink  ! 
An  instant ;  and  again  the  wave  was  clear,  and  cold, 

and  calm, 
And  to  his  throat  and  burning  hands  and  head  it 

felt  like  balm. 
How  strange  that  being  seemed,  that,  as  he  drank, 

looked  from  the  stream 
And  kissed  his  lips  with  set  wan  face,  and  eyes  as  in 

a  dream ! 
He  seized  the  sacred  urn  once  more,  and  smiled  and 

leaped  away. 
How  fast  the  sun  declines,  and  mountain  shadows 

blot  the  day, — 

125 


JBrtngtng  tbc  ffire  from  Delphi 


But  still  Cithseron's  sombre  face  glows  to  the  west- 
ern sky, 

Howe'er  he  dreads  to  see  the  sheen  from  off  its 
forests  die. 

With  mad  desire  to  win  that  goal  he  strives,  and 
drives  along 

With  swifter  pace.  He  will  not  fail,  for  passion 
keeps  him  strong ! 

Past  Leuctra's  plain — in  sunslr.ne  still — Asopus" 
river  nears — 

Beyond — in  sunshine  still — the  crowds  !  and  hark, 
the  ringing  cheers  ! 

With  easy,  even,  rapid  stride  the  thronging  slope  he 

took, 
Where  stood  the  Spartan  chief,  unwonted  softness 

in  his  look  ; 
And  to  the  leader's    hands  he  gave  the  urn,   and 

bowed  his  head — 
Then  faltered — reeled,  and  fell  in  arms  outstretched 

to  save  him — dead  ! 

They  set  within  Diana's  fane  a  simple  stone  to 
say 

126 


Bringing  tbe  jftre  from  Delpbt 


Who  ran  to  Delphi  and  returned  within  a  single 

day : — 
A  gallant  course  !    Who  would  not  wish  for  strength 

and  skill  so  tried  ? 

For  loyalty  and  will  to  hold  the  path  until  he  died  ? 
For  powers  so  disciplined  to  do  the  hests  of  strong 

desire  ? 
And  best  of  all  to  run  for  Man  and  carry  sacred 

fire! 


127 


ttbe  Cballenge. 

WAS  in  the  sunset  of  the  year, 

When  autumn's  colors  tint  the  wood, 
And  ere  the  winter's  twilight  drear 

Comes  down  on  every  solitude, 
That  I  and  she  I  held  most  dear 

Along  the  river's  pictured  flood 
Went  floating  down  the  Genesee  ; 
And  there  to  song  she  challenged  me  ! 

How  autumn's  alchemy  made  gold 
The  maple  leaf  and  sumach  bush, 

She  sang  ;  the  crimson  glories  told 
Of  that  fair  vine  that  seems  to  flush 

For  clasping  in  its  conscious  fold 
The  manly  elm  that  scorns  to  blush  ; 

And  praised  the  pictures  in  the  tide 

Of  gorgeous  hills  re-multiplied. 
128 


cbc  Cballcngc 


But  ah,  the  tender,  solemn  tone 

Of  that  sweet  voice,  when  it  did  dwell 

Upon  the  mystic  meaning  shown 
In  nature's  change,  I  may  not  tell ; 

Nor  how  it  sang  the  season's  moan 
As  sweetly  as  a  silver  bell : 

So  wise  a  lesson  ne'er  again 

Will  wedded  be  to  such  a  strain. 

But  I  was  songless  ;  not  a  note 

There  came  in  rival  melody  ; 
One  thought  would  leap  from  heart  to  throat, 

I  could  not  choose  but  set  it  free  : 
"  I  love  you  ;  would  we  two  might  float 

Forever  down  the  Genesee  ! " 
"  The  palm,"  she  murmured,  "  I  resign  ; 
Your  song  is  sweeter  far  than  mine  ! " 


129 


H  Urue,  TTrue  jfrfent). 

A  TRUE,  true  friend,  O  fortune,  send,- 
A  life  to  wreathe  with  mine, 
And  though  I  flourish,  break,  or  bend, 
Around  me  intertwine  ! 

'T  were  ill  to  prize  false  passion's  sighs. 

The  quiver  of  a  leaf  ; 
Nor  would  I  watch  in  many  eyes 

For  kindred  love  or  grief ; 

I  cannot  stand  a  passive  hand, 

And  hate  a  luring  smile, — 
The  friend  grown  cold  as  blackened  brand, 

The  foe  that  walks  in  guile  ! 

Where  faces  glow  and  glasses  flow 

To  manly  pledges  filled, 
The  moments  fall  like  flakes  of  snow, 

The  morrow  all  is  chilled. 
130 


Grue,  {True 


The  boys  I  knew,  and  deemed  so  true, 
Have  shut  me  from  their  souls  ; 

Those  shrines  love  only  enters  to, 
And  woman  there  controls. 

A  true,  true  friend,  O  fortune,  send, — 
A  life  to  wreathe  with  mine, 

And  as  I  flourish,  break,  or  bend, 
Around  me  intertwine  ! 


131 


Song. 

A  ROSE-BUD  among  full-blown  roses 
The  girl  is  that  I  love  ; 
What  promise  fair  the  sweet  bud  closes, 
A  little  time  will  prove. 

To  watch  and  ward  the  full  rich  blossom 

That  blooms  all  unaware 
What  graces  strange  its  leaves  embosom, 

Is  a  delicious  care. 


FARE  thee  well ! 
Though  I  mourn  the  broken  spell, 
Though  I  shiver  o'er  the  embers 
Of  the  hopes  my  heart  remembers, 
Love  is  dead  ;  and  be  his  knell 
Fare  thee  well ! 

Sad  good-bye  ! 
Such  a  past  is  worth  a  sigh, 
Such  a  future  worth  no  trouble  ; 
Harvest  gone,  the  fields  are  stubble  ; 
Joy  is  mortal,  let  him  die — 
Fair  good-bye  ! 


133 


"  Time  're  JBoss  anfc  Girls  TTogetber ! " 

O  SWEET  and  strong  magician,  Memory  ! 
The  sudden  sounding  of  some  dear  old  tune  ; 
A  dream  of  faces  that  we  ne'er  shall  see  ; 
The  misty  rising  of  an  autumn  moon  ; 
The  busy  humming  of  a  dusty  bee ; 

The  pregnant  odor  of  a  woods  in  June  ; 
The  faint  far  scent  of  lilac  or  of  heather — 
And  once  again  we  're  boys  and  girls  together  ! 

It  is  the  realm  of  youth,  so  quaint  and  new, 
For  life  is  fresh,  and  feeling  still  intense, 

Where  many  an  old  romancer's  tales  are  true, 
And  false  the  maxims  of  our  riper  sense  ; 

The  circling  hills  and  arching  sky,  how  blue  ; 

The  cliff  how  tall,  the  shadowy  woods  how  dense  ; 

What   crash   of   storms ;    what   gleams   of   golden 
weather — 

For  once  again  we  're  boys  and  girls  together  ! 
134 


"  TWle  're  3Bog0  anD  <5f  els  ftogetber ! " 


The  brow  that  passing  years  have  wreathed  with 

fame 

Puts  laurels  off,  and  takes  on  boyish  grace  ; 
This  comrade  tinged  with  grief,  that  touched  with 

shame, 

Are  here,  glad-voiced  and  innocent  of  face  ; 
The  very  loved  asleep  in  graves  we  claim — 

List  for  their  silver  laugh  in  soft  embrace  ! 
For  time  's  turned  back  and  flown  with  sweeping 

feather, 
And  once  again  we  're  boys  and  girls  together  ! 


135 


Hew  U>ear,  ©U>  Era. 

THERE  is  no  magic  in  the  time, 
No  spell  in  New  Year's  merry  chime 
To  change  our  being,  fate,  or  clime. 

The  wintry  winds,  as  long  ago, 
Among  the  moaning  woods  will  blow 
The  ghostly  mists  of  wintry  snow  ; 

The  Spring,  through  tears  of  showery  rain, 
Will  smile,  making  the  drift-bent  grain 
And  every  bud  and  blossom  fain  ; 

The  Summer's  heat,  the  Summer's  calm, 
Will  brood  o'er  earth,  and  Summer's  balm 
Rise  like  the  incense  with  a  psalm  ; 

At  touch  of  Autumn,  as  of  old, 
The  green  of  leaves  will  glow  to  gold, 
And  gleam  and  wither  and  grow  cold. 
136 


flew  H?ear,  ©ID  Bra 


There  will  be  loss,  there  will  be  gain, 
And  pleasure's  thrill,  and  pang  of  pain, 
And  thousands  born  and  thousands  slain  ; 

There  will  be  woe  and  deep  delight, 
The  victor's  joy,  the  victim's  fright, 
The  blush  of  morn,  the  frown  of  night  ; 

The  year  will  bring  the  lover's  bliss, 

The  dying  mother's  farewell  kiss, 

The  stock-dove's  coo,  the  serpent's  hiss  ; 

The  strong  may  fall,  the  weak  may  rise, 
The  wicked  thrive  on  cunning  lies, 
The  good  go  down  in  sacrifice  ; 

The  sun  will  shine  on  freemen's  glaives, 
It  cannot  shun  the  sight  of  slaves, 
Nor  help  but  nourish  grass  on  graves. 

Continued  change  for  constant  cause, 
Success  and  failure  under  laws  ! 
We  are  not  blown  about  like  straws  ; 

What  comes  is  earned  as  well  as  meant  ; 
Not  impulse  only,  but  intent 
And  effort  make  development. 
137 


44  Bring  flDe  a  /ftinstrel  "Row." 

'"THE  kings  of  Edom,  Judah,  Israel, 
*       On  Moab  marched  ;  but  on  the  southern  plain 
Their  hosts,  from  weariness    and  thirst,  were 

stayed  ; 

The  waters  failed  in  stream,  and  fount,  and  well ; 
There  came  no  shade  of  clouds,  no  plash  of  rain  ; 
The   strong  sun  burned ;   the  red  dust  slowly 

swayed  ; 
The  patient  cattle  lolled  their  tongues  and  gasped  ; 

In  idle  lassitude,  unlike  repose, 
Men   tossed,    with   swords   ungirt   and   helms   un- 
clasped, 
And  took  no  trouble  for  the  coming  foes. 


"  Our  might  is  gathered  to  be  Moab's  spoils  ! " 
The  king  of  Israel  in  anguish  cried  ; 

And  he  of  Judah  sighed  :  "Is  there  not  here 
Some  man  of  God  to  free  us  from  the  toils  ?  " 
138 


fbe  a  Minstrel  How  " 


A  servant  spoke,  low-voiced  and  eager-eyed, 

Elisha's  name.     They  heard  in  hope  and  fear, 
Remembering  how,  when  drought  had  parched  the 

land, 

His  master  sat,  with  face  between  his  knees, 
On  Carmel,  till,  no  bigger  than  a  hand, 

The  cloud  he  prayed  for  rose  from  out  the  seas. 

The  troubled  kings  unto  the  prophet  came. 

To  him  of  Israel,  abashed,  unnerved, 

Elisha  turned  :  "  And  what  have  I  to  do," 
He  said,  "  with  thee  ?     Go  call  upon  the  name 

Of  gods  thy  father  and  thy  mother  served — 
And  seers  Ahab  and  Jezebel  held  true  !  " 
With  rapid  stride  and  strong  he  paced  the  tent. 

Elijah's  wrongs  revolving  in  his  ire, 
And  all  forgetful  of  the  great  ascent 

To  Heaven  with  chariot  and  steeds  of  fire. 

"  Three  kings  the    Lord  of  Hosts  has  gathered, 

then, 
To  be  delivered  unto  Moab's  hands  !  " 

The  suitor  murmured,  still  in  hope  of  grace. 
Elisha  paused  and  sternly  spoke  again  : 
139 


44  JBring  flfce  a  /Binstret  flow  " 


"  Save  that  the  king  of  Judah  with  thee  stands, 
As  the  Lord  lives,  I  would  not  see  thy  face  ! " 
Then,  conscious  of  the  fury  of  his  mood, 

At  strife  with  thought  of  things  divine,  he  said  : 
"  Bring  me  a  minstrel  now  !  "  And  where  he  stood 

He  sank,  and  wrapped  his  mantle  round  his  head. 

The  minstrel  came  ;  his  slender  fingers  sweep 

Across  the  harp,  and  from  the  trembling  strings 
There  flows  silence  in  sound,  a  dreamy  hush  ; 
Then  shadows  that  athwart  the  sunshine  creep  ; 

Among  the  flowers  there  goes  with  rustling  wings 

A  wandering  wind  ;  anon,  there  seems  a  gush 
Of  raindrops,  sprinkled,  tinkling,  on  the  leaves, 

The  plash  and  gurgle  of  a  shower  in  streams, 
With  husbandmen  a-calling  'mong  their  sheaves  ; 

And  then  grey  rain  through  all  the  music  teems  ! 

The  noise  of  swollen  brooks  breaks  in,  the  roar 
Of  rapid  rivers,  and  at  times  the  flash 

Of  thunderbolts  among  the  pines  the  gloom 
Makes  drearer  ;  while,  upon  some  far-off  shore, 
With  iterant  and  deep-resounding  crash, 
The  music-troubled  seas  are  heard  to  boom  ! 
140 


"  Bring  Obe  a  Minstrel  "Row  " 


And  as  the  minstrel  played,  there  fell  a  calm 
Upon  the  prophet's  soul  ;  and  every  sense 

And  sympathy,  in  that  melodious  balm, 
Was  opened  to  supernal  influence. 

The  hand  of  God  came  on  him,  and  he  rose  : 

' '  Go  trench  the  valley  ;  though  you  may  not  feel 

Or  wind  or  rain,  the  waters  shall  be  poured 
Throughout  the  camps  in  streams.    Nor  heed  the 

foes, 
For  Moab  shall  be  given  to  your  steel, 

The    choicest    cities    spoiled,   the   fruit  trees 

scored, 
The  wells   choked   up,    the   gardens   marred  with 

stones  !  " 

In  awe  they  heard  the  potent  words.     Alas, 
For  homes  foredoomed  to  fall  with  evil  thrones, 
For,  as  he  had  foretold,  it  came  to  pass  ! 

Behold  the  kings  perplexed  the  prophet  sought — 
For  not  in  ways  of  court,  or  camp,  or  mart 

May    supreme    wisdom    dwell.       And    God's 

design 

Is  not  to  passion-troubled  spirits  taught — 
The  prophet  called,  to  calm  his  stormy  heart, 
141 


Ac  a  /fcinstrcl  flow  " 


The    minstrel's    power,  then  saw  the    dream 

divine. 
To  touch  eternal  truth,  oh,  step  aside 

Among  the  mountain  pines,  or  by  the  seas, 
Or  watch  the  skies ;  and  still  whate'er  betide 
The  seeking  soul  must  keep  its  inward  peace. 


142 


JBallaDe  of  Jf  af  r  Woman. 

O  OME  trailing  yards  of  silken  rustle  ; 

**-)     A  hat  built  up  of  wing  and  rose  ; 

A  startling  prominence  of  bustle  ; 
High  heels  that  tilt  her  on  her  toes 
With  mincing  gait ;  a  studied  pose  ; — 

Who  cares  for  such  a  piece  of  art, 

Or  how  the  creature  comes  and  goes  ? — 

Save  for  the  eyes,  the  lips,  the  heart! 

She  is  no  good  in  fray  or  tussle  ; 

A  thing  of  fears  and  tears  and  throes, 
With  sadly  undeveloped  muscle 

And  strangely  o'er-developed  clothes, 

That  deals  through  bills  her  only  blows  ; 
Of  little  use  in  field  or  mart, 

And  worthless  in  life's  winds  and  snows- 
Save  for  the  eyes,  the  lips,  the  heart ! 
143 


of  Jfair  TCdoman 


She  has  a  voice  like  any  throstle 
For  greeting  all  her  dearest  foes, 

Though  it  can  make  a  husband  hustle  ; 
To  sway  a  fan,  to  flirt  with  beaux, 
Or  in  a  carriage  loll,  she  knows, 

Or  sit  and  drive  a  village  cart ; 

She  should  be  tossed  to  kites  and  crows — 

Save  for  the  eyes,  the  lips,  the  heart  ! 

Ah,  prince,  this  feeling  on  me  grows  ; 

Though  at  her  faults  we  check  and  start, 
The  world  were  but  a  place  of  woes — 

Save  for  the  eyes,  the  lips,  the  heart. 


144 


H  Castle  in  Spain. 

TO  northward,  heaved  in  broken  lines, 
Great  mountains  curve,  the  valley's  rim,- 
Along  their  sides  the  sombre  pines, 

About  their  heads  the  vapors  dim  ; 
Full  many  a  stream  leaps  headlong  down 

To  join  a  river  broad  and  free, 
That  winding  on  through  grove  and  town, 
Flows  calm  and  deep  to  meet  the  sea  ; 
And  on  a  cliff  above  the  plain, 
Far  glancing  to  the  distant  main, 
My  castle  stands,  my  home  in  Spain. 

Its  towers  are  granite,  strong  and  gray, 

'Tis  girt  with  jutting  balconies, 
Its  walls  are  rich  with  hangings  gay, 

Mosaics  pave  its  galleries  ; 
There  pictures  strange,  great  painters'  dreams, 

In  vivid  colors  are  en  wrought, 
145 


B  Castle  in  Spain 


And  many  a  snowy  statue  gleams, 

The  care-worn  sculptor's  frozen  thought ; 
And  all  fair  things  that  saints  disdain, 
And  fling  aside  for  heavenly  gain, 
My  castle  holds,  my  home  in  Spain  ! 

Fair  gardens  rich  in  summer  bloom, 

Where  fountains  rise  and  white  spray  falls, 
Breathe  scent  of  fruit  and  flowers,  perfume 

For  many  a  rood  around  its  walls  ; 
And  all  that  valley  tribute  pays, 

From  golden  fields  to  spire  of  gold, 
From  packman  on  the  mountain  ways 
To  galley  that,  with  venture  bold 

Of  spice  and  cloth  of  Indian  grain 
Sweeps  up  the  stream  with  glad  refrain, 
To  anchor  'neath  my  keep  in  Spain. 

Oh,  may  the  sky  that  o'er  it  bends 
Remain  forever  bright  and  clear  ! 

For  noble  guests  and  gallant  friends 
Have  shared  that  castle's  goodly  cheer : 

Religion  tinged  with  tolerance, 
And  rank  whose  smallest  boast  was  birth, 
146 


B  Castle  in  Spain 


And  wit  that  used  no  poisoned  lance, 
And  beauty  that  forgot  not  worth, 

And  friendship  free  from  envy's  strain, 
And  love  untouched  with  sinful  stain, 
Were  welcome  to  my  home  in  Spain  ! 

At  morn  we  hunted  on  the  hills  ; 

At  noon  we  feasted  in  the  grove  ; 
At  eve  a  tale  of  others'  ills 

The  minstrels  for  our  pleasure  wove  ; 
At  night  we  watched  the  thick  dews  veil 

The  earth  in  mists  of  silvery  tears, 
Or  saw  the  columned  clouds  assail 

The  mountains  with  their  lightning  spears  ; 
The  morning  never  dawned  in  pain  ; 
We  never  felt  life's  uses  vain, 
W7ho  dwelt  within  that  keep  in  Spain. 

That  castle  fair,  when  shall  I  find  ? 

Is  it  in  memory  or  in  dream, 
Across  the  vision  of  my  mind, 

Its  turrets  tall  so  often  gleam  ? 
Is  this  a  home  or  exile  sad, 

Wherein  with  alien  heart  I  move  ? 
147 


Castle  in  Spain 


For  every  mortal  hope  makes  glad 
Is  there  no  vale  of  rest  and  love  ? 

And  o'er  the  hills, — across  the  main,- 
Above  the  clouds, — do  all  men  strain 
To  reach  some  castle  built  in  Spain  ? 


148 


fang. 


THE   cynic  may  laugh,  but  it  makes  my  heart 
sick, 

That  King  Louis  should  be  such  a  lunatic  ; 
At  a  time  when  peoples  are  breaking  loose, 
When  even  a  monarch  must  seem  of  use, 
And  rulers  who  hope  to  keep  command, 
Must  sway  the  sceptre  with  busy  hand, 

It  is  very  sad 
That  any  king  should  be  crazy  mad. 

A  palace  he  raised  on  a  hill  aloof, 

And  made  a  garden  along  the  roof, 

And  set  a  lake  in  the  clear,  blue  air, 

Above  town,  and  forest,  and  landscape  fair  ; 

With  swans  to  draw  him,  he  seems  to  float 

Through  the  summer  sky  in  his  gilded  boat. 

It  is  very  sad 

That  the  poor  young  man  should  be  so  mad. 
149 


Cbc  Cra.it?  Iktna 


He  made  a  banquet ;  the  golden  gleam 
Of  the  feast  was  real,  the  guests  a  dream  ; 
And  the  costly  wine  did  not  cease  to  flow 
For  the  lips  that  were  dust  long  years  ago  ; 
While  he  sat  at  the  board  and  pledged  as  host 
The  health  of  each  goodly  and  famous  ghost. 

It  is  very  sad 
That  the  poor  young  king  should  be  so  mad. 

He  built  a  theatre,  rich  and  rare, 

And  the  sweetest  of  singers  make  music  there  ; 

And  often  the  king  in  a  strange,  wild  whim, 

Sits  in  the  theatre  lorn  and  dim, 

And,  free  from  the  glare  of  the  gossiping  throng, 

Drinks  lonely  draughts  of  refreshing  song. 

It  is  very  sad 
That  the  poor  young  man  should  be  so  mad. 

This  lunatic  king,  I  blush  to  say, 
Has  no  terror  of  death  by  night  or  day  ; 
He  has  no  visions  of  Nihilist  plots, 
Nor  dreams  of  fanatics'  random  shots, 
And  never  in  all  his  simple  life 
Was  forced  to  dodge  an  assassin's  knife. 
150 


Cra3g 


It  is  very  sad 
That  any  monarch  should  be  so  mad. 

He  never  has  wedded,  and,  stranger  still, 
He  has  set  a  curb  on  his  royal  will, 
And  walks  untempted,  elate,  and  pure, 
O'er  the  silken  nets  of  each  love-set  lure, 
For  he  seems  to  think  that  the  moral  law 
Should  keep  kings  and  courtiers'  wives  in  awe. 

It  is  very  sad 
That  the  poor  young  man  should  be  so  mad. 

He  has  never  projected  a  great  reform, 
Or  kindled  aggressive  war's  wild  storm. 
He  has  won  no  battle,  and  burned  no  town, 
And  snatched  no  gem  from  a  neighbor's  crown. 
Alas,  his  case  is  beyond  all  hope  ; 
For  he  has  not  even  defied  the  Pope  ! 

It  is  very  sad 
That  the  poor  young  king  should  be  so  mad. 

His  simple  people  may  work  and  trade, 
And  love,  and  worship  all  unafraid 
Of  the  useless  shedding  of  guiltless  blood, 
Or  the  waste  of  treasure  or  want  of  food  ; 


tTbe  Grass  f?ing 


But  they  hang  their  heads  and  sigh  for  shame 
When  the  nations  'round  about  exclaim  : 

"How  very  sad 
That  your  poor  young  king  should  be  so  mad ! ' 


152 


Dome, 

OD  bless  the  hopes  that  hallow  home, 

The  thoughts  that  make  it  holy  ; 
And  pity  all  who  from  it  roam 
Along  with  melancholy. 

A  sister's  chair,  though  vacant  there, 

Seems  fraught  with  sweeter  pleasure 

Than  dance,  or  song,  or  fame  elsewhere, 
Or  stores  of  golden  treasure. 

A  brother's  grave  grants  more  I  crave, 

Of  sympathy  and  loving, 
Than  any  hearts  of  strangers  gave 

Since  I  was  forced  to  roving. 

Then,  oh  how  sweet,  the  friends  to  greet 
With  life  and  hope  yet  burning, 

Whose  clasping  hands  your  own  can  meet, 
The  grasp  of  love  returning ! 
153 


l)ome 

God  bless  the  hopes  that  hallow  home, 
The  thoughts  that  make  it  holy  ; 

And  pity  all  who  from  it  roam 
Along  with  melancholy  ! 

I  love  its  trees,  the  very  breeze 
That  touches  it  in  blowing, — 

Look  on  it,  Lord  of  just  decrees, 
Thy  choicest  gifts  bestowing. 


154 


Breams  Ubes  Hll  Hre 
Emuntefc." 


MY  dreams  they  all  are  haunted 
By  a  fair  familiar  face, 
That  comes  uncalled,  unwanted, 
Though  so  full  of  love-lit  grace. 

Last  night  arose  this  vision 
In  a  well-remembered  room  ; 

And  my  sleep  grew  half  elysian 
As  I  drank  her  breath's  perfume. 

I  felt  her  garment  wrinkle, 

Watched  her  foot  beneath  its  fold, 
Heard  her  voice's  music  sprinkle 

All  our  talk  with  sands  of  gold. 

How  I  sat  and  watched  the  shimmer 
Of  her  gray,  entrancing  eyes, 

Where  wit  and  archness  glimmer, 
And  where  wisdom  deeper  lies  ; 
155 


Dreams  Cbev  all  are  taunted" 


How  I  laughed  at  sweet  and  bitter, 
As  her  lips  played  red  and  rare, 

And  the  lamplight's  yellow  glitter 
Glanced  along  her  shining  hair  ! 

Oh,  naught  can  mend  the  jewel 
Crushed  beneath  our  angry  tread  !— 

Why  then  this  strange  renewal 
Of  memories  long  since  dead  ? 

I  buried  all  thoughts  flowing 
From  this  passion  long  ago  ; 

On  their  grave  long  grass  is  growing, 
And  the  mound  is  flattened  low  ! 

Yet  mines  that  slaves  are  sinking. 
Would  I  barter  but  to  know 

That  she  of  me  is  thinking — 
When  she  haunts  my  dreaming  so  ! 


156 


•Reconciliation. 

THERE  stole  a  sudden  flash 
Forth  from  her  modest  eye, 
Then  down  dropped  lid  and  lash, 
As  she  came  passing  by. 

Her  soul  had  met  with  mine 
In  that  quick  secret  gaze, 

And  bashful  blood,  like  wine, 
Set  all  her  cheeks  ablaze. 

For  what  her  glance  made  known, 
I  joyous  read  the  shame, 

By  eyebrows'  arching  frown 
And  in  the  face  aflame. 

Deeply  the  thought  distressed 
Of  all  the  thoughts  betrayed  ; 

With  sweet  red  lips  compressed 
On  went  the  blushing  maid. 

157 


•Reconciliation 


Ah  me  !     Though  you  it  grieved, 
That  look  was  worth  a  world. 

Love  lives,  and  life  's  reprieved, 
The  wings  of  hope  unfurled. 


158 


Song. 

'"T'HEY  that  to  pleasure  give  the  time, 

*       And  deem  the  sensuous  the  divine, 
May  snatch  the  kiss,  and  weave  the  rhyme, 

And  crush  the  grapes  to  sparkling  wine  ; 
But  barren  is  their  careless  joy  ; 

They  wave  the  torch  and  quench  its  gleams, 
They  pluck  the  roses  and  destroy, 

Their  lives  degenerate  to  dreams. 
Hope,  mocker  of  the  silver  wings, 
In  very  scorn  of  them  she  sings. 

They  that  are  resolute  for  gain, 

And  grasp  for  power  with  greedy  hand, 
May  put  great  forces  to  the  strain, 

And  sway  the  fortunes  of  the  land. 
But  hatred  on  their  triumph  waits, 

And  evils  breed  in  selfish  sin  ; 
Their  deeds  develop  to  their  fates, 

The  good  they  would  they  may  not  win. 
Hope,  siren  of  the  silver  wings, 
To  lure  them  to  their  doom  she  sings. 
159 


Song 

They  that  are  set  to  serve  their  kind, 

And  loyal  to  the  true  and  good, 
May  work  and  wait,  and  trust  to  find 

The  end  by  paths  misunderstood. 
For  them  each  thought  will  burst  to  bloom, 

And  fruitage  crown  each  painful  deed, 
And  crushed  desires  will  breathe  perfume — 

Self-sacrifice  is  holy  seed. 

Hope,  angel  of  the  silver  wings, 
It  is  their  psalm  of  life  she  sings. 


160 


Sbafcows. 

AZURE  of  sky  and  silver  of  cloud 
In  the  deep  dark  water  show, 
Amber  of  field  and  emerald  of  wood, 
That  were  pictured  long  ago. 

Here,  as  of  old,  the  beauty  above, 
And  its  shadow  there  below  ; 

Why  was  their  message  jubilant  then, 
And  their  meaning  now  but  woe  ? 

Nay,  not  the  same,  O  fool,  as  of  yore  ! 

These  be  other  leaves  that  grow, 
Other  the  harvests,  other  the  waves  ; 

Other  the  breezes  that  blow. 

Sameness  in  sooth,  but  difference  too  ; 

And  a  simple  change  I  know, 
Within  beholder,  without  in  scene, 

It  may  alter  meaning  so  ! 
161 


SbaOows 

Shadow  of  her  that  looked  down  with  me, 
In  the  depths  so  long  ago — 

Were  all  your  archness  glimmering  there, 
Would  the  picture  breathe  but  woe  ? 


162 


IPanisbefc 


Quien  bueyes  ha  perdido  cencerros  se  le  antojan. 
(He  who  has  lost  his  oxen  is  always  hearing  bells.) 

— Spanish  Proverb. 

In  the  last  verse  of  the  third  chapter  of  Genesis 
it  is  said  that  the  Lord  set  "  cherubim  and  a  naming 
sword"  over  the  Garden  of  Eden,  "  to  keep  the  way 
of  the  tree  of  life  ; "  and  it  has  been  supposed  by 
some  scholars  that  the  Earthly  Paradise  remained 
until  it  was  destroyed  in  the  general  devastation  of 
the  Deluge. 


""TRADITION  said :  Beyond  that  barrier  lies 

*       Becalmed  our  sires'  primeval  Paradise  ; 
Once  through  yon  pass,  and  you  may  see  the  fires 
Of  sunset  tinge  with  gold  its  mountain  spires  ; 
From  mortal  eyes  its  scented  blossoms  hid, 
163 


BDen 


To  mortal  lips  its  saving  fruit  forbid, 

Within  that  maze  of  beauty's  inmost  core 

The  sacred  tree  of  life  blooms  evermore  ; 

Along  those  walls  still  wheels  the  flaming  sword 

Obedient  to  Jehovah's  threatening  word. 

And  like  white  summer  clouds  round  heaven's  rim 

Sail  slow  above  the  guardian  cherubim. 

Fair  prize  of  immortality  !  Did  then 
No  one  essay,  of  all  the  sons  of  Tien, — 
Giants  and  mighty  ones  of  old, — to  win 
From  God  a  rich  eternity  of  sin  ? 
Was  there  no  chief  of  Adam's  exiled  line, 
Thrilled  with  a  great  despair  or  hope  divine, 
To  conquer  back  or  earn  in  prayer  and  ruth 
Unending  days  and  undecaying  youth  ? 

Though  lit  by  ancient  grace  in  fitful  gleams 
And  haunted  still  in  dim  and  awful  dreams 
With  glimpses  of  the  Lord,  the  race  had  run 
A  downward  course  from  circling  sun  to  sun, 
Fast  losing  Eden's  misted  memories 
In  earthly  sin  and  earthly  sympathies  ! 
Sometimes,  when  famine  scourged  the  helpless  land, 
When  fell  a  hero  'neath  the  foeman's  brand, 
164 


BDen 


Or  when  a  chief,  old  as  a  pine  or  oak, 

Bent  his  hoar  head  before  time's  conquering  stroke, 

Men  knew  themselves  accursed  to  woe  and  pain, 

And  sighed  for  primal  purity  again, — 

Then  turned  to  toil,  to  passion,  and  to  strife, 

Sin's  evil  harvest  in  the  fields  of  life. 

In  Enoch's  heart  alone  a  nobler  fire 
Burned  strong,  and  made  his  being  one  desire. 
Master  of  many  a  town  and  grassy  plain, 
Of  caravan,  and  mine,  and  hoarded  grain, 
He  left  increase  of  flocks  and  schemes  for  wars, 
To  watch  the  golden  clustering  of  the  stars, 
And  ever  yearned  to  find  the  Lord  revealed 
Among  the  solitudes  of  wood  and  field  ; 
And  so,  three  hundred  years  and  sixty-five 
He  walked  in  grace  and  saw  his  children  thrive, — 
When  the  divine  desire  broke  human  ties 
And  urged  him  on  the  quest  for  Paradise. 

'T  was  olden  legend  pointed  out  his  course, — 
To  trace  unto  its  far  mysterious  source 
The  noble  river  that  flowed  deep  and  free 
Along  his  native  land  to  seek  the  sea. 
Full  many  a  toilsome  day  the  pilgrim  sped 
165 


Cbe  Danisbcfc 


By  prayer  sustained  and  unseen  guidance  led. 
The  plains  grow  dim  behind  and  disappear  ; 
Great  valleys  open  wide,  and  stretch  to  rear  ; 
The  hills  begin  to  crowd  the  rapid  tide  ; 
The  vales  give  way  ;  defiles  are  multiplied  ; 
To  wooded  slopes,  grim  rocky  cliffs  succeed  ; 
With  rush  and  roar  the  mighty  waters  speed  ; 
The  homes  of  men,  the  hunters'  haunts  are  gone  ; 
But  onward  still,  undaunted  and  alone, 
From  moon  to  moon,  the  desperate  path  he  keeps — 
Faith  with  him  when  he  toils  ;  hope,  when  he  sleeps. 

He  came  at  last  where  effort  seemed  in  vain  ; 
For  many  a  mile  a  sheer  cliff  rose  amain, 
And  through  a  mountain-cleft  the  river  poured — 
A  winding  chasm  by  sunshine  unexplored  ! 
No  earthly  wing  could  lift  so  high  its  flight  ; 
No  man's  endeavor  stem  the  torrent's  might. 
Dazed  with  long  loneliness,  outworn  with  cares, 
Tangled  in  fever's  fancies,  as  in  snares, 
He  staggered  on  the  scene.     His  forces  spent, 
His  consciousness  to  shadowy  languor  blent, 
It  seemed  to  him  beside  the  stream  dismayed, 
A  giant  bird  among  its  breakers  played  ; 
It  swam  at  will  along  the  foam-plumed  waves  ; 
1 66 


DantebeD 


It  dived  where  opening  eddies  yawned  like  graves  ; 
It  sailed  through  writhing  currents  flung  in  seas, 
Breasting  the  noisy  tide  with  careless  ease  ; 
Swan-like  in  form,  but  more  than  swan  in  size, 
With  stately  neck,  white  breast,  and  ebon  thighs, 
And  yellow  feet  that  in  the  clear  green  flood 
Spread  out,  at  speed,  like  fans  of  sandal  wood. 
And  as  the  creature  turned  with  motion  fleet, 
And  poised  itself  in  calm  at  Enoch's  feet, 
Seeming  to  greet  him  and  await  his  will, 
The  weary  pilgrim  feels  his  being  thrill 
With  inspiration's  impulse,  and  he  flings 
Himself  within  the  cradle  of  its  wings. 
He  lies,  half-conscious  of  the  rapid  rush. 
The  torrent's  roar  that  softens  to  a  hush, 
The  canon's  gloom — till  darkness,  motion,  sound, 
Have  lulled  his  senses  to  a  sleep  profound. 
A  slumber  long  and  soft, — a  dream  of  night, — 
A  sense  of  perfume,  melody,  and  light, — 
He  wakes  !  And  there  at  last  fair  Eden  gleams, 
Bright  in  the  girdle  of  her  fourfold  streams. 

II. 

The  metes  and  boundaries  of  that  wondrous  land 
No  tongue  can  tell ;  for  wave  and  drear  sea  sand 
167 


Uanisbefc 


Long,  long  ago  their  blue-grey  mantles  spread 
Above  each  vale  and  round  each  mountain  head  ; 
Nor  comes  a  poet  in  a  thousand  years 
To  whom  the  vision  of  its  grace  appears. 
Full  many  a  league  in  compass  did  it  seem, 
Lit  with  the  gorgeous  sunlight  of  a  dream, 
Adorned  with  valleys  deep  and  emerald  plains, 
Forests  and  streams,  and  noble  mountain  chains 
Whose  highest  peaks  were  lightly  upward  driven 
And  seemed  to  vanish  in  the  azure  heaven  ; 
And  angels  came  and  went  as  on  the  stair 
That    spanned,    in   Jacob's   dream,    the    midnight 

air. 

The  rivers  laughed  and  ran  with  current  clear, 
And  from  the  hills  leaped  downward  to  the  mere  : 
With  rare  sweet  odors  were  the  winds  perfumed  ; 
With  rare  sweet  colors  were  the  woods  illumed  ; 
And  far  and  near  there  rang  the  melody 
Of  nature's  voices  wreathed  in  harmony. 
There  was  through  all  the  atmosphere  outpoured 
A  strong  delight  that  wrought  a  great  accord, 
As   when,    in    youth's   springtide    and    springtime 

weather, 
Two  pure  young  lovers  set  their  lips  together. 

168 


UanisbeO 


Not  'gainst  the  favored  servant  of  the  Lord 
Was  turned  angelic  guard  or  flaming  sword, 
As  still  in  rapture  with  the  sudden  vision 
He  floated  softly  through  the  land  elysian, 
Along  the  central  river's  crystal  tide 
That  like  an  inland  lake  spread  blue  and  wide. 
As  when,  some  summer  night  the  heavens  blush 
As  though  creation  tingled  with  the  flush 
Of  a  far-off  supernal  joy,  and  shine 
The  stars  as  white  as  snow  or  red  as  wine 
Around  the  regnant  moon,  and  in  their  gleam 
Below  flows  broad  and  clear  St.  Lawrence  stream, 
With  all  its  myriad  islands  beautified, 
And  shore  and  sky  repictured  in  its  tide, 
And  as  you  glide  within  the  granite  maze, 
Content  among  the  winding  liquid  ways 
To  leave  behind  life's  cares  in  nature's  calm, 
To  smell  the  pine's  and  cedar's  heavy  balm. 
To  hear  the  tender  birch's  gentle  shiver 
Above  the  lapping  of  the  deep-mouthed  river, 
The  moonlit  isles  above  seem  strangely  blent 
With  islands  mirrored  in  the  element, 
And,  floating  twixt  two  firmaments  you  rear 
Your  thoughts,  the  creature  of  another  sphere  ; — 

169 


Gbe  Wanisbefc  EOen 


So  did  the  human  pilgrim  drift  and  dream 
Upon  the  current  of  that  Eden  stream — 
Past  many  a  floating  lilied  island  led, 
Past  many  a  beetling  cliff  with  palm-capped  head — 
Here  watched  the  wealth  of  wooded  splendor  rolled 
In  various  russet,  amber,  green  and  gold  ; 
There  saw  some  noble  river  slipping  down 
Afar,  and  shades  of  tropic  forests  frown  ; 
And  yonder,  a  weird  city  through  the  mist 
Thrust  spires  of  sapphire  or  of  amethyst. 

And  ever  as  he  glided  on,  it  seemed 
The  place  grew  like  a  dream  full  often  dreamed  ; 
He  saw  in  sky,  and  hill,  and  flower,  and  tree 
The  half-forgotten  types  of  memory  ; 
The  dim  and  fair  ideals  of  desire 
That  kindled  hope  now  satisfied  its  fire  ; 
The  perfect  forms  in  the  creative  mind 
Elsewhere  distorted,  rose  in  grace  defined  ; 
The  thoughts  of  the  divine  intelligence, 
Elsewhere  so  blurred,  glowed  clearly  on  the  sense  ; 
The  music  of  supernal  joy,  elsewhere 
With  discords  marred,  ran  grandly,  purely  there. 
As  some  young  exile  to  his  lands  restored 
Once  forfeited  unto  the  king,  his  lord, 
170 


Wanisbe& 


By  a  rebellious  sire,  returns  in  joy 

Unto  the  scenes  familiar  when  a  boy, 

Paces  his  father's  hall  with  sober  cheer, 

His  birthright  ransomed  and  his  fame  made  clear, 

So  Enoch  seemed  through  Paradise  to  come, 

No  stranger,  but  an  exile  nearing  home. 

And  as  the  heir  restored  may  sometimes  feel 

A  subtle  sadness  o'er  his  spirit  steal, 

To  think  of  sorrows  past  and  sufferings  borne 

And  comrades  dead  in  banishment  forlorn, 

So  through  the  gates  of  memory  there  stole 

Soft  melancholy  into  Enoch's  soul. 

But  in  the  air  the  snow  of  white  robes  came, 
And  silver  pinions  glanced  with  woven  flame, 
And  as  he  floated  on,  from  time  to  time, 
His  thoughts  were  lulled  as  by  a  low  sung  rhyme  : 

"  Full  hard  the  search  through  mines  of  nature's 

lore, 

And  knowledge  gained  is  slowly  gathered  store  ; 
The  wrinkled  face  like  yellow  parchment  grows, 
Across  the  brows  the  years  will  drift  their  snows  ; 
And,  after  all  the  toil  and  sacrifice, 
Still  wisdom's  home  remains  in  Paradise. 
171 


"  There  is  a  thrill  in  bugle  calls  to  fight, 
And  in  the  clash  of  arms  a  strong  delight  ; 
Nor  recks  the  victor  friend  or  foe  cleft  down 
To  set  his  flag  above  a  conquered  town  : 
Yet  peace  is  prize  of  war  and  sacrifice, 
And  peace  may  rule  no  realm  save  Paradise. 

"  The  world,  which  is  itself  a  sombre  tomb, 
Can  yield  no  balm  to  keep  the  rose  in  bloom  ; 
To  scent  of  honey  and  to  taste  of  wine 
Doth  surfeit  cling,  as  shadow  unto  shine  : 
No  fleeting  joy  is  worth  a  sacrifice  ; 
And  pleasures  last  not  save  in  Paradise. 

"  Love's  service  is  a  fair  and  noble  thing, 
Turns  monarch  suitor  and  a  peasant  king  ; 
The  weeping  eye  as  well  as  laughing  lip 
Is  yearning  ever  for  companionship  ; 
Love  sweetens  life  and  lightens  sacrifice  ; 
And  love  alone  is  lord  in  Paradise." 

In  central  Eden  a  fair  sea  was  set 
And  therein  was  an  island  fairer  yet, 
In  which  a  fount  in  many-columned  play 
Lifted  its  airy  towers  of  crystal  spray — 
172 


IDantebeD  EDen 


The  first  of  waters  that  at  God's  command 
Poured  forth  their  waves  to  gladden  all  the  land  ; 
And  in  the  moisture  of  its  glancing  dew, 
The  mystic  tree  of  potent  fruitage  grew 
Whose  taste  meant  peace,  and  purity,  and  lore 
And  youth,  and  love,  and  life,  forevermore. 
And  thither  Enoch,  circled  so  and  guided, 
Serenely  with  his  great  swan-shallop  glided, 
And  sprang  to  taste  of  immortality 
And  learn  what  pleasure  it  may  be  to  be. 

Time  has  no  dial  for  a  lover's  kiss, 
No  hour-glass  that  will  serve  to  measure  bliss. 
'T  were  vain  his  happy  story  to  rehearse 
To  whom  the  secrets  of  the  universe 
Were  open  laid  ;  or  the  fulfilled  desires 
Of  one  informed  with  pure  celestial  fires. 
When  some  great  engine  sets  a  thousand  shafts 
In  varied  motion,  and  earth's  handicrafts 
The  deft  and  dexterous  iron  fingers  ply 
With  tireless  speed,  while  wheel  and  spindle  fly, 
We  watch  each  complex  work  and  woven  plan 
And  thrill  with  pride  to  see  the  power  of  man — 
What  joy  must  his  have  been  who  saw  in  play 
The  forces  that  creation's  movements  sway, 
173 


IDanisbeO 


And  studied  all  results,  or  near  or  far, 
From  opening  rose  to  slowly  forming  star  ! 
Who  watched  great  nature,  alchemist  of  old, 
Touch  in  Titanic  retorts  rocks  to  gold  ; 
Who  learned  the  source  of  life,  each  germ's  intent, 
The  secret  of  diverse  development  ; 
Who  knew  the  planet's  path  and  why  its  pace 
Ne'er  slackened  in  the  ever  circling  race  ; 
From  whom  the  scheme  of  earth  held  naught  con- 
cealed ; 

To  whom  the  heavenly  scheme  was  half  revealed. 
What  blessing  is  there  that  we  mortals  prize 
Like  friendship  with  the  good,  the  true,  the  wise, 
The  tender,  and  the  beautiful  ?     It  gives 
Wings  to  the  world  and  lifts  our  struggling  lives. 
Ah,  what  delight  must  he  have  found  in  love, 
Who  trod  with  angels  Eden's  every  grove  ! 

Suggestive  still,  though  oftentimes  retold, 
There  runs  a  legend  of  a  saint  of  old. 
Long  had  he  lived,  shut  off  from  human  strife, 
Within  his  abbey  walls  a  holy  life  ; 
Not  careless  of  his  fellow-creature's  needs, 
But  prone  to  thoughtful  words  and  loving  deeds  ; 
His  days  a  chain  of  charities  and  alms 
174 


Daniabed 


And  all  his  aspirations  lark -winged  psalms  : 

Not  blind  to  nature's  smiles,  but  in  their  sheen 

Still  seeking  light  reflex  of  worlds  unseen. 

And  once  with  childlike  faith  he  prayed  the  Lord 

To  grant  a  vision  of  the  saints'  reward  ; 

That  unto  him  one  tinted  ray  be  given 

From  the  effulgence  of  the  courts  of  heaven  ; 

That  from  eternity  the  least  sublime 

Of  all  its  joys  might  touch  a  child  of  time. 

He  rose  from  where  before  the  holy  rood 

He  knelt,  and  strolled  into  the  abbey  wood. 

A  western  wind  that  afternoon  had  strayed 

Among  the  oaks  and  gossiping  delayed  ; 

He  heard   the   green-banked  streamlet's  laughing 

flow, 

Its  ripples  to  the  pebbles  babbling  low  ; 
And  where  the  sunshine  through  the  foliage  slips 
A  squirrel  sits,  an  acorn  at  his  lips. 
While  there  the  monk  reclined  and  calmly  mused, 
The  place  with  sudden  glory  seemed  transfused, 
And,  wheeling  through  the  trees  in  spiral  rings, 
There  came  a  wondrous  bird  on  lustrous  wings. 
No  tropic  plumage  pictures  to  the  mind 
The  light  and  glory  that  the  vision  shrined  ; 

175 


No  northern  meadow's  choral  hints  the  song 
It  poured  the  forest's  pillared  aisles  along. 
Surprised  and  tranced  the  holy  man  beheld, 
And  raptured  listened  while  the  music  swelled. 
And  as  the  bird  sprang  on  from  spray  to  spray, 
He  followed  through  the  wood  its  joyous  way. 
Sometimes  he  thinks  to  grasp  with  eager  hands 
The  prize  ;  for  just  within  his  reach  it  stands. 
But  ah,  its  eyes  gleam  with  enjoyment  keen, 
And  it  is  gone  amid  the  clouds  of  green  ! 
Sometimes  't  is  lost  ;  and  in  the  glade's  far  gloom 
He  just  pursues  the  glimmer  of  a  plume  ; 
Sometimes  he  hears  in  distant  tinkling  threads 
A  note  that  to  the  bright  enchantment  leads  ; 
Again  in  full  fair  view  he  sees  it  rest 
Arching  the  foamy  crimson  of  its  crest. 
And  so,  in  long  delight,  he  still  pursued 
The  ever-fleeting  vision  through  the  wood. 
At  last  it  disappeared  ;  and  while  he  sighed 
To  think  it  gone,  behold  !  't  was  eventide. 
Homeward  he  turned  his  weary  steps  ;  and  soon 
Between  the  setting  sun  and  rising  moon 
He  saw  the  Abbey  vale  and  towers.     Yet,  strange, 
The  old  familiar  scene  seemed  touched  with  change. 

176 


Gbe  DantebeD 


The  chapel  walls  looked  worn  and  grim  and  grey, 

Though  lately  built,  yet  touched  with  quick  decay  ; 

How  came  its  buttresses  and  Gothic  eaves, 

Thus  mantled  full  and  dark  in  ivy  leaves  ! 

The  bridge,  the  barns,  the  cloistered  halls  did  seem 

Unknown  and  alien.     Was  it  all  a  dream? 

In  haste,  the  child  of  doubt  and  fear,  he  sprang 

Across  the  bridge  and  at  the  portal  rang. 

A  stranger  oped  the  gate  and  calmly  gazed 

As  at  a  stranger.     Wondering,  worn,  and  dazed, 

At  last  he  grasped  the  thought  that  his  delight 

Had  compassed  in  its  bounds  an  age's  flight ; 

The  joy  he  had  been  chosen  to  receive 

Had  made  a  hundred  years  a  summer's  eve  ! 

The  least  of  Eden's  charms  weaves  such  a  spell  ; 
What  song  the  power  of  Eden's  self  may  tell  ? 
So  while  o'er  earth  the  cause  of  death  and  sin 
Grew  strong  from  age  to  age  amid  the  din 
Of  war  and  rapine,  and  the  patient  Lord 
Looked  sadly  down  upon  a  race  abhorred  ; 
And  while  Methusalem  grew  old  and  died, 
And  Lamech  passed  away  in  hoary  pride, 
And  Noah  heard  the  voice  of  God's  command 
Denouncing  vengeance  on  the  guilt-stained  land,. 
J77 


Danisbefc 


And  labored  at  the  ark  with  steady  faith, 
Preparing  for  the  day  of  flood  and  scathe, 
For  Enoch  among  Eden's  blessed  bowers 
The  years  had  passed  away  like  summer  hours. 

And  then  drew  on  the  time  of  dread  and  gloom 
To  earth  and  Paradise  presaging  doom  ; 
And  when  to  Eden  came  the  fated  dawn, 
The  great  celestial  guardianship  withdrawn 
Passed  heavenward,  like  the  mists  of  morn  upcurled 
From  rivered  valleys  and  round  mountains  furled. 
An  angel  folded  Enoch  to  his  breast 
And  looked  farewell  from  Eden's  topmost  crest  ; 
His  fourfold  pinions  poised  and  all  aglow 
With  gold,  his  soft-wreathed  raiment  trailing  slow, 
His  great  head  backward  turned  with  pensive  air, 
Among  the  unblown  mists  of  shining  hair  ; 
Tall  as  the  white  and  columned  smoke  may  be, 
From  a  volcano's  peak  seen  far  at  sea, 
He  touched  the  mountain-top  and  slowly  rose 
And  disappeared  within  the  skies'  repose. 

III. 

The  horror  of  the  wrath  of  God  remained 
Below,  the  terror  of  his  might  disdained : 

178 


Danisbefc  J6Den 


The  dark  clouds  gather  over  heaven's  dome, 
With  herald  winds,  in  sullen  bands  they  come 
And  seem  to  wait  to  hear  the  dread  command 
Of  him  who  holds  all  powers  within  his  hand, 
Their  masses  lit  by  vivid  lightning  flashes 
And  shook  at  intervals  by  thunder  crashes. 

'T  is  evening,  and  within  the  finished  ark 
The  last  of  God's  appointed  ones  embark  ; 
And  now,  behold,  the  awful  signal  given, 
And  opened  are  the  flood-gates  of  high  heaven  ! 
Vain  man,  'gainst  oft-repeated  warnings  proof, 
Exulting  in  the  shelter  of  his  roof, 
Draws  nearer  to  his  fireside  bright  and  warm 
And  marvels  at  the  fierceness  of  the  storm, 
Or  lulled  to  slumber  by  the  pouring  rain 
Hopes  to  awake  to  smiling  skies  again. 
But  dim  and  drear  come  morning's  leaden  beams, 
The  rain  in  sheeted  masses  downward  streams  ; 
The  flowing  waters  furrow  up  the  soil 
And  through  unwonted  channels  hiss  and  broil, 
While  torrents,  meeting  torrents  in  their  course 
And  struggling  for  a  time  in  anger  hoarse, 
Rush  on  united  with  redoubled  speed 
To  do  the  work  to  which  they  were  decreed. 
179 


DanisbeD  BDen 


They  flood  the  rivers  that  disdain  their  banks 
And  pour  their  waves  abroad  in  surging  ranks  ; 
And  as  the  tide  spreads  swiftly  o'er  the  plain 
Destruction's  self  strides  raging  in  its  train 
And  bears  to  her  dark  granaries  away 
The  fruits  of  golden  harvests  down  the  spray. 
Herds  lifeless,  and  each  valley's  landmarks  go, 
Swept  on  above  the  surge  or  sunk  below  ; 
Upwhirled  in  eddies  faces  grim  in  death 
Are  to  the  surface  borne,  then  sunk  beneath  ; 
The  tree  that  braved  the  storm  a  thousand  years, 
Here  rises  on  the  surge,  there  disappears, 
Or  grating  where  some  ruined  arch  has  stood 
Tosses  its  branches  wildly  o'er  the  flood. 

Where  once  emerged    calm    rivers,   streams,   or 

rills, 

Fierce  torrents  choke  the  outlets  through  the  hills, 
And  back  in  seething  eddies  sets  the  tide, 
To  brim  the  valley's  vase  with  horrors  wide. 
City  and  village,  hut  and  palace  hall, 
Garden  and  grove,  it  rolls  above  them  all  ! 

Old  ocean,  too,  disturbed,  in  sudden  flow, 
Heaves  all  its  fountains  from  their  caves  below, 
180 


DanfsbeO  BOen 


And  sends  the  floods  beyond  their  ancient  strand 
To  bury  man  and  wash  the  guilt-stained  land — 
A  winding-sheet  of  foam  on  every  wave 
And  every  opening  gulf  beneath  a  grave. 
The  shark  is  tangled  amid  cottage  vines, 
The  great  leviathan  flung  through  the  pines, 
And  stately  galleys  tossed  o'er  sea-girt  towns 
And  stranded  upon  far-off  mountain  crowns. 
Not  light  the  turmoil,  and  the  rifts,  and  rents 
That  bring  the  lifting  of  new  continents  ! 

Up  from  the  valleys,  hounded  on  by  doom 
Crowds   drenched    and    struggling    seek   a   higher 

tomb. 

By  myriad  misty  columns  of  the  rain 
Cut  off  and  blinded,  friend  seeks  friend  in  vain  ; 
In  water's  hissing  fall  or  rising  roar 
Drowned  at  the  lips  all  cries  for  succor  pour. 
A  short  reprieve  to  sure  destruction  yields 
For  multitudes  who  gain  the  upland  fields  ; 
Behold,  some  wall  of  waters  on  their  way, 
Which  checked  to  gather  force  had  burst  the  stay, 
And  in  one  rolling  sea  of  tumult  wild 
Whose  front,  a  liquid  precipice  high  piled, 
Comes  with  a  thousand  times  Niagara's  force 

181 


Gbe  UantsbeO 


And  sweeps  the  struggling  worms  along  its  course  ; 
As  helpless  they  who  mountain  heights  attain, 
And  linger  shivering  in  the  driving  rain, 
Awaiting  tedious  death  in  twilight  grey, 
No  moon  to  light  the  night,  no  sun  the  day. 
Ah,  man,  how  art  thou  fallen  since  that  hour 
When  first  thou  did'st  behold  from  Eden's  bower 
Those  orbs  shine   down  on   thee,  themselves  less 

grand 

Than  thou,  last  favorite  work  of  God's  right  hand  ! 
No  blemish  marred  thy  bright  perfections  there — 
Strong  in  his  strength  and  in  his  beauty  fair  ; 
No  wonder  they  were  snatched  from  thee  in  wrath, 
And  thou  condemned  unto  decay  and  death, 
Marked  for  that  doom,  by  every  passion's  trace, 
That  made  thy  soul  its  hideous  lurking-place  ! 

Days  pass  ;  the  rain  yet  pours  ;  the  waters  rise 
Until  between  them  and  the  lowering  skies 
A  few  lone  mountains  still  their  summits  rear, 
The  haunt  of  multitudes,  in  woe  and  fear, 
Round  whom  the  huge  waves  crawl  and  toss  their 

spray 

As  if  to  lick  ere  they  devour  their  prey. 
182 


IDanfsbeO 


In  blank  despair  men  gaze  on  those  below, 
As  o'er  them  tier  by  tier  the  waters  flbw, 
Mark  the  faint  struggle  as  death  sets  its  grasp 
And  see  the  bubble  of  each  final  gasp. 

Again  the  night  enshrouds  the  dismal  scene 
And   when   the   morning    breaks,    there  's    naught 

between 

The  still  downpouring  clouds  and  rising  tide 
Save  the  lone  ark  upon  the  waters  wide. 

IV. 

Far  icy  breakers,  under  Arctic  skies, 
Now  sing  the  requiem  of  Paradise, 
Let  them  lament,  and  not  my  feeble  rhyme, 
The  beauty  smothered  in  the  deluge  slime. 
What  works  and  histories  were  there  effaced 
We  cannot  know  ;  what  ancient  types  erased 
We  may  but  dream.     What  science  finds  enfurled 
Among  the  rocky  records  of  the  world, 
And  what  religion  tells  with  reverent  air, 
'T  is  not  the  poet's  mission  to  compare. 

I  will  not  deem  that  garden       fair  to  be 
Naught  but  a  crazy  prophet's  phantasy — 
183 


Cbe  Danfsbefc 


Still  Eden's  choirs  through  all  our  music  sing  ; 
Still  Eden's  scents  to  all  our  blossoms  cling  ; 
Still  Eden's  voices  through  our  poets  flow ; 
Still  Eden's  colors  on  our  canvas  glow  ; 
Still  yield  we  to  the  cry  of  soft  desire 
That  Eden's  inborn  memories  inspire, 
And  deem  that  Eden  may  return  again 
When  for  that  home  we  rear  a  race  of  perfect  men. 


1 86 


pange  Xingua. 

SING,  O  my  soul,  a  hymn  to  God, 
And  holy  be  his  name  ! 
Before  the  sky  was  broad  unfurled 
He  was,  and  will  be  when  the  world 
Is  melting  into  flame. 

Sing,  O  my  soul,  a  hymn  to  God, 

And  blessed  be  his  power  ! 

'T  was  he  that  through  primeval  night 
Sent  silver-footed  orbs  of  light. 

Creation's  morning  hour. 

Sing,  O  my  soul,  a  song  to  God, 

For  wondrous  is  his  mind  ! 

The  clouds,  the  sky,  the  starry  globes 
Are  his,  with  spring's  renewing  robes, 

And  all  of  human  kind. 

Sing,  O  my  soul,  a  hymn  to  God, 
For  fearful  is  his  frown  ! 
187 


pange  lingua 


Behold  it  in  the  plague's  drear  track, 
Behold  it  in  the  tempest's  rack 
About  the  mountain's  crown. 

Sing,  O  my  soul,  a  hymn  to  God, 

For  boundless  is  his  love  ! 

He  sent  his  son,  and  crucified 
For  us  that  great  Redeemer  died 

And  won  the  realms  above. 

Sing,  O  my  soul,  a  song  to  God, 

For  sweet  are  his  demands  ! 

An  upright  heart,  a  voice  of  praise, 
With  feet  that  walk  in  righteous  ways, 

And  charitable  hands. 

Sing,  O  my  soul,  a  hymn  to  God, 
And  grand  are  his  rewards  ! 

An  age  with  him  he  has  decreed 
For  every  bright  and  holy  deed 
His  angel's  pen  records. 


183 


THIEVES. 

Pleasures  are  merry  guests, 

With  merry  tunes ; 
Search  well  their  silken  vests 

For  silver  spoons  ! 

THE   TRUE   TEST. 

This  seemed  to  be  pleasure  and  brought  me  pain, 
That  seemed  to  be  sorrow  and  brought  me  gain  ; 
Were  sorrow  or  pleasure  again  to  win, 
I  should  simply  bethink  me  :  "  Which  is  sin  ?  " 

RADICAL  AND   CONSERVATIVE. 

Just  before  the  age  and  just  behind  it 
Are  the  honest  fighting  stations  ; 

Whoso  seeks  for  danger  there  will  find  it, 
Stubborn  knocks  and  scanty  rations  ! 
189 


Strag 


AN   OLD   PROBLEM. 

Why  is  there  any  evil  ? 

To  make  the  good  more  sweet ; 
The  ravage  of  the  weevil 

Brings  up  the  price  of  wheat. 

STRENGTH   IN  WEAKNESS. 

What  grace  and  strength,  and  fair  design 
Seem  clustering  round  the  lordly  pine  ; 
And  yet  it  is  the  clinging  vine 
That  feeds  the  soul  of  potent  wine  ! 

MJSMATED. 

She  flung  rare  roses  in  the  snow, 
And  watched  in  vain  to  see  it  glow  ; 
And  in  the  sea  he  poured  rich  wine, 
But  sweetened  not  the  bitter  brine. 
How  glad  with  wine  might  both  have  been, 
How  happy  in  the  roses'  sheen  ! 

A  WOMAN'S  FOLLY. 

She  broke  a  glass,  and,  with  a  sigh, 
Looked  at  her  beauty  turned  awry  ; 
190 


Strag  TRbgmea 


She  broke  a  heart,  but  did  not  care 
For  the  distorted  image  there. 

KILLING   GLANCES. 

If  my  love's  looks  were  arrows, 

How  would  her  pretty  feet  be  slain  ; 

If  thy  love's  looks  were  arrows, 

How  would  strange  soldiers  strew  the  plain  ! 

CHARITABLE  BEQUESTS. 

Who  gathers  millions  that  he  may  in  millions  give, 
May  make  more  beggars  than  his   millions  will 
relieve. 

THE   SAME   GUIDE. 

So  many  that  I  loved  have  gone  I  know  not  where, 
I  long  for  death  to  come  and  say :    "  Forth  let  us 
fare  !  " 


191 


"Cbe  jfount  of  Castal^. 

I  WOULD  the  fount  of  Castaly 
Had  never  wet  my  lips  ; 
For  woe  to  him  that  hastily 
Its  sacred  water  sips  ! 

Apollo's  laurel  nourishes 
Above  that  stream  divine  ; 

Its  secret  virtue  nourishes 
The  leaves  of  love  and  wine. 

No  naiad,  faun,  or  nereid 

Preserves  its  haunts  in  charge, 

Or  watches  o'er  the  myriad 
Of  flowers  about  its  marge  ; 

But  aye  around  the  caves  of  it 
The  muses  chant  their  spells, 

And  charm  the  very  waves  of  it, 
As  out  that  fountain  wells. 
tea 


Gbe  jfount  of 


Its  joyous  tide  leaps  crystally 
Up  'neath  the  crystal  moon, 

And  falling  ever  mistily 

The  sparkling  drops  keep  tune. 

The  wavelets  circle  gleamily, 
With  lilies  keeping  trysts  ; 

Fair  emeralds  glisten  dreamily 
Below,  and  amethysts. 

Once  taste  that  fountain's  witchery 
On  old  Parnassus'  crown, 

And  to  this  world  of  treachery 
Ah,  never  more  come  down  ! 

Your  joy  will  be  to  think  of  it, 
'T  will  ever  haunt  your  dreams  ; 

You  '11  thirst  again  to  drink  of  it 
Among  a  thousand  streams  ! 


THE   END. 


193 


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